House Renovations
by an-ocean-in-the-sky
Summary: It's not just the broken down house that needs fixing, it's the two people sharing it. And maybe, by working together to repair the old house, they can fix themselves as well. Season six AU, with some elements of canon from all seasons. House/Cameron
1. The End

**A/N: This was written for the House Big Bang challenge on livejournal. There are eleven chapters total, all written, though I'm still revising some of the later chapters. Updates should be fairly regular. Also, there is lovely artwork, made by people far more talented than I, to go with the story. I'll post a link at my profile for anyone who would like to see it. Mucho thanks to the beta services and overall support of three awesome people, blueheronz, everytimeyougo, and jesmel. Given that I'm still revising, any mistakes you find are all on me. Feel free to point them out, so I may correct them. Reviews will be received with gratitude.  
**

**This was written post _Broken, _based off spoilers and speculation (read: wishful thinking) on my part. I included a lot of canon, but obviously the show writers have very different ideas about what should happen than I do. Also, I wrote this as one long document, so dividing it up into chapters was difficult. Forgive me if some are short.  
**

The end.

A stray beam of sunshine catches on the diamonds of her wedding ring, creating a waltz of light on the wall above her as she slides it off her finger and places it in her jewelry box. Beside it rests the simple gold band she wore a lifetime ago.

Diamonds are forever. Marriages are not.

As she packs up the disorganized remnants of her brief life with Chase, she thinks of a time when she believed in the power of love, the commitment of marriage.

_"You're pleased," she says, looking down on House as he sits in his Aeron chair so casual and smug. "You think you've proved every marriage is a mistake."_

_"Do I look pleased?" he asks, and she's tempted to make a snarky reply, to shake him and tell him that he's wrong, that there is such a thing as a happy marriage. Instead, she plucks his winnings from the waistband of her pants and passes them over, a current flowing between their fingers as they meet and linger._

She views the memories as if they belong to someone else, observing them and then quickly stowing them away, like the wedding dress still hanging in the back of the closet obscured by a vinyl garment bag. Ignorance really is bliss.

Is she even meant for happiness? Because thus far, it feels like everyone she's ever loved has left her or shoved her away. And when they're gone she discovers the missing pieces of herself, and frantically clings to whatever she has left, reluctant to give any more away. That part of her that once believed in love and commitment just might be gone for good. The girl who thought that doing the right thing would render the right result fled a long time ago. And the girl that believed people could change for the better? She's on life support, just waiting for someone to come along and pull the plug.

House won't change. Chase won't change either. She can see it in his eyes as he hugs her goodbye. He's got something to prove, whether to himself or House she doesn't know and she suspects he doesn't either. What stings is the irony that it is Chase who has chosen House over her, after all the times he accused her of still harboring feelings for House.

Climbing into her car, she decides right then and there that she's done trying to diagnose the problem. It's more exhausting than it should be, and she's done with all of it and... all of them.

She doesn't know where she's going to go or what she's going to do. There's no plan. Chicago was a dream for two; a place for she and Chase to go together and break away from the hold House had on them. Now it holds no appeal for her. And neither does the practice of medicine at the moment. All the ethical dilemmas and justifications and bad decisions when lives are at stake, not to mention the manipulative bastards she's had to work with... she can't do it again. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.

XXXXXX

She finds her fresh start in the form of a beaten down house in a well-established neighborhood guarded by centuries old trees. The gnarled branches of elms and maples reach across the street to touch their neighbors, creating a canopy of leaves above the pavement. The sidewalks are buckled in places, pushed up from beneath by massive tree roots, and the homes are spaced apart just enough to give privacy without losing the neighborly feel. Each one is unique, like characters in a well loved book, she thinks. This is no cookie cutter development, where they mow down all the trees and slap down twenty or thirty indistinguishable houses.

_Her_ house is a one story ranch with a wide front porch that stretches across the entire structure. The sagging steps and mismatched columns are weather beaten and the shutters hang from the windows like droopy eyelids. The paint, a shade of eggplant that is far less garish than it would seem, is peeling away from the house in papery wisps. To the casual eye, the house is cold and unfeeling, ravaged by time and the elements, but Cameron looks deeper and sees the heart and soul beneath the harsh exterior and she knows in an instant that she's found home.

On a whim, she yanks the car to the curb and dials the number of the realtor on the sign.

Half an hour later, she's taking a tour of her dream house.

The realtor, a middle-aged woman who is a little too eager to make a sale, expounds on the original moldings and woodwork and all the architectural features that make it so unique. But Cameron is barely listening. She's already mentally moved in, and making plans to restore it. Someone has already made a start on the work; the master bedroom and bathroom are fully renovated and breathtakingly gorgeous. The roof and heating system have been replaced, as well as all the electric and plumbing. The rest of the rooms are in various states of disrepair. But the clincher for Cameron is at the back of the house, a large glass enclosed room with an art deco style sunk-in pool and hot tub. Both are lined with spectacular blue tile that must have been gorgeous in its day. Now many of them are cracked and there are sharp bits scattered across the floor like a mosaic of destruction. They remind her of House, the color of his eyes, the havoc he creates. In a moment of sheer spontaneity, she scoops up a handful and tucks them in her pocket, tiny bits of home to carry with her.

XXXXXX


	2. Moving On

He only meant to screw with them. To stir the waters of their relationship until it was all muddy. After all, she never should have married that blond wallaby in the first place. Everyone could see that they weren't right for each other. He figured if he could instigate a little marital strife here and there, it would do her some good. Make her see what a mistake her marriage was. What he never figured was that she would just up and leave, with a teary-eyed goodbye and a _thanks for ruining my husband and bringing him down to your level. _ Nor did he figure that Chase would be idiot enough to let her go. Not like this, anyway.

He has very few regrets, but this... this unintended consequence of his meddling is one of them. Chase should be the one leaving, not Cameron. There is a big part of him that wants to set things right, make her come back. But the little voice in his head that now sounds suspiciously like Dr. Nolan, tells him he's already meddled enough, that he should apologize and move on instead of trying to fix things. That doesn't mean he can't make Chase's life more miserable though. On the other hand, she's gone. How much worse can he make things? He doesn't even know where she's gone and the not knowing bugs him more than anything. She's the itch that never got scratched; the one that got away. A wisp of cobweb stuck to his psyche. She's unfinished business-- his not quite lover.

After her little goodbye speech, he tried to stop her. Tried to catch up and say anything that would make her stay. But she was moving too fast, and well, isn't that the heart of the problem he's always had with her? She moves too fast. One date and she's asking about his feelings. One moment with an ex and she's declared he just _can't _love her. One disagreement about a cancer patient, and she's told him she hates him. How was he supposed to keep up?

Now he wants to grab her and shake her and tell her she's wrong. He's not beyond redemption, dammit. He's getting better. He's on the path to happiness. Isn't he? But how is he supposed to get there without someone like her to question his motives, his games, make him see that he's fallen back into old habits without even realizing it?

Her little speech nags him all the way to Nolan's office. He hasn't been in weeks, because he's been arrogant enough to assume he doesn't need Nolan anymore. She changed that though, made him see himself clearly for the first time since he left Mayfield. He despises her just a little bit for that. But then, he's grateful too that she had the courage to tell him what no one else would.

Cuddy catches him staring out into the parking lot, and quietly asks, "House, can we talk in my office?"

He nods and follows her, plopping down on her sofa. She perches on the edge of the cushion beside him, her skirt sliding up her legs to display several inches of shapely thigh.

"I thought... " she hesitates, and now she really has his attention because she seems nervous. "I... Would you like to get dinner tonight?" In her eyes, he sees that this is her saying, "I'm ready, if you still want to try." And something inside him clicks into place.

"No," he answers without hesitation.

As expected, she's taken aback. "Why? You... you've been pursuing me for..."

"And you didn't want a relationship with me until now, when I'm off the Vicodin and seeing a psychiatrist. You think because I'm trying, that I might actually be capable of a healthy relationship now."

"Is that so wrong?" she protests. "To want a healthy relationship?"

"No," he concedes. "But I still can't be what you want. I'm not interested in being Rochelle's surrogate daddy... "

"It's Rachel," she corrects, exasperated.

"Right. Point is, you know I can't be what you want, but because I've gotten off the Vicodin and I'm getting help, you feel some sort of obligation to... date me."

Frowning, she opens and closes her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He's right. He's always right. Some part of her thought that if she rejected him again, it might send him back to the drugs and misery.

"I just want you to be happy," she responds, contrite.

"I know. But you're not responsible for my happiness." Hefting himself to his feet, he turns to look back down at her. "Don't worry," he quips, "I'll still mock you and ogle your breasts on a regular basis."

She smiles, relieved, and says, "You're still an idiot."

"And you still dress like a high class call girl," he retorts and smiles back at her.

Standing, she steps forward and embraces him, murmuring in his ear, "Friends?"

"Yeah," he answers, and as he pulls back, he can see a weight has been lifted from her. She looks happy and... free. He hadn't realized how much of a burden he'd laid on her with his flirtatious, off and on interest in her over the last year or so. For that he feels a small twinge of guilt, but they've settled it now and he feels freer too.

He's moving on.


	3. Confessions, Memories, Dreams

Now that Cameron is moving on with her life, she has some fence mending to do, most significantly with her brother and closest ally, Evan. She calls him late one night and confesses that her marriage is over, and an awkward silence stretches between them. She's thankful he's not the type to say 'I told you so," even though he's never met Chase. Evan knows her well enough to know... well, her heart. It's the reason, she realizes now, that she planned the wedding in two weeks; too little time for Evan to make it from Hong Kong, which means he'd get no chance to talk her out of it, to shine the spotlight on one of her biggest mistakes. But that little plan cost her dearly, put a distance between them that hurt her and hurt him, which hurt her even more.

Finally, he speaks and says the very words she needs to hear. "Are you okay?"

She blinks back tears and tells him... everything.

Evan is understanding, and more importantly, forgiving. They talk for over an hour and she feels a burden lift from her heart. In the end, he tells her he wants her to be happy, tells her he misses her, tells her that nothing would make him stop loving her. And she cries tears of gratitude.

XXXXXX

While Cameron waits for the closing date on her house, she places the bulk of her belongings in storage, packs a suitcase and heads for Philly to spend the holidays with her Great Aunt Elise.

The Shady Meadows Assisted Living Senior Center, where Aunt Elise is whiling away her golden years, is dressed in its holiday best. Wreathes hang from every window and twinkle lights wrap around the porch railings and bannisters. A large pine stands in the lobby, spilling its branches out into the room where elderly folks sit around and play chess and watch daytime talk shows and argue about politics. Some of the residents are spry and active and happy to be in a community of their peers, while others are mostly shut ins who need the care offered by the staff. Elise falls somewhere in between. Her memory is but a facsimile of its former self, and arthritis keeps her in much of the time, but she's a warm and cheerful reminder that Cameron still has family close to Princeton.

Elise's hands, dry and soft and powdery, with a web of veins splayed out beneath the nearly translucent skin, reach out to cup Cameron's face. She presses a kiss to her cheek, and Cameron catches a whiff of White Diamonds perfume. The wrinkles around her eyes make Cameron think of the rings on a tree, each one representing a year in Elise's life, an experience, a memory.

The apartment is small, but it's warm and cozy and smells of nutmeg. Just inside the door, a curio cabinet holds a collection of glass and ceramic ladybugs acquired over the years. Along one wall is a gallery of memories, just above a couch with a faded floral print. Pictures of Cameron's mother as a girl; moments in time captured forever in black and white. Cameron with her brother Evan when he graduated high school. In his cap and gown, he holds his diploma in one hand and rests the other protectively on her head. Her mom and dad as a bride and groom, looking impossibly young, as if they are children playing dress up. And then her favorite photo, one that brings back a long forgotten memory. She wears a red swimsuit, her hair parted and twisted into two braids that are looped to form hoops beside her head. Her smile is wide and toothy except for the gap in the front where one of her baby teeth had fallen out. Beside her, her mother kneels so that they are just about the same height and with their arms around each other, they press their cheeks together and smile. Just behind them the dashed lines of water from the lawn sprinkler arc over their heads, like an impending rain storm. In her mother's arms, she has shelter.

_Settling beside her on the porch steps, her mom nudges her and smiles. At six, her mom seems to her as perfect and amazing as the moms you see on those old television shows. She doesn't wear billowing skirts or pearls, but she's the very essence of home to Allison. The one person who knows just the right words to make the world right again, who knows complicated things like how to fix the chain on a bike and how it can rain in one place and be sunny somewhere else. She's the finder of all lost things and the fixer of all injuries. She can make flowers grow and find a home for stray frogs in the backyard; she can check the closets and beneath the beds for lurking monsters, unafraid of whatever she may encounter. She can hit a wiffle ball so far even Evan can't catch it. But on this day, she can't magically produce a swimming pool so that Allison can swim like Evan can at his friend's house, and Allison feels a pang of disappointment and longing. _

_"I have an idea," her mom says. "Go get your bathing suit on." _

_A rush of joy fills Allison, and she launches herself into the house, nearly pulling the screen door off its hinges. When she comes back out, she's deflated to see that her mom has set the sprinkler up. A sprinkler is no swimming pool, she thinks. But moments later her mom has coaxed her out, jumping through the spray of water and shrieking with glee as the icy water hits her. Her shorts and peasant blouse are covered in wet splotches and she's stretching her arms out toward Allison, beckoning, so how can she resist. Soon they are playing sprinkler tag, bare feet slipping on the wet grass, and laughing and laughing and laughing... _

_Later, exhausted and happy, they flop down on the ground, blades of freshly cut grass clinging to their damp skin, and her mom says, "Maybe someday we'll be able to get a pool." _

_Reaching out, she grabs her mom's hand and just smiles. Clouds float by overhead, casting shadows on the ground, and she thinks that someday when she's all grown up, she'll buy her mom a pool. And a sprinkler. _

"She would be so proud of you, dear," Elise says from behind her, placing a spindly hand on her shoulder in comfort.

"I miss her," Cameron replies. "Every single day."

"Did you know she spent a year in the Peace Corps before she met your father? Always wanting to save the world, that one. You're so like her."

Cameron swallows the lump in her throat and nods.

The rest of Christmas is bittersweet. Elise is a living encyclopedia of the Cameron family, and they spend most of their time reminiscing about people loved and lost.

When Cameron heads back to Princeton, she has an armload of photo albums and her mom's favorite ceramic ladybug in her possession; the one with crystal wings spread open as if to take flight.

XXXXXX

On her first night in her new house, she sits in a scuffed leather chair in the corner of the study and sketches. Colored pencils are scattered across the shelf beside her, a stack of graph paper piled neatly in the corner. The floor around her is littered with paint chips and decorating magazines from which she plucks ideas like flowers from a garden. There's unpacking to be done, but it can wait. She has dreams to put down on paper first.

Across the room, in her makeshift kitchen, the tea kettle gurgles and emits a hiss of steam and she sets aside her work to make herself a cup of tea. The fragrance of black walnut and ginger drifts upward, triggering a sense memory of comfort given and taken and she sighs with pleasure. The lamplight is a soft yellow pool around her, and she's as content as a cat in a patch of sunlight.

She starts with the kitchen, jotting down measurements and plans and then roughly sketching out her vision, the hum of her mini refrigerator keeping time with the movement of her hands. When she finishes, she starts a rendering of the next room and then the next. Time is meaningless; she has nowhere to be, so she continues working until the lines on the page begin to blur together.

Yawning wide, she puts her things on the shelf and heads off to her bedroom, dodging cardboard boxes as she goes. The mattress is bare, so she drags a pillow and comforter from one of the boxes and collapses on top of it. The last thing she sees as her eyes close in sleep, are the little bits of tile, blue as a sunlit sky, resting in a pile on her nightstand. And then she dreams of oceans and summer days and home.

XXXXXX


	4. True North

It's not just Cameron's final words to him that nag at House, but the memory of her kiss, soft as a whisper against his stubbled cheek, the sweep of her lashes, impossibly long, on his skin. The scent of her hair and the way her hand rested on his waist? He can only blame the shock of her words for his lack of response.

He finds Chase chatting up one of the nurses in the cafeteria, and something about the sight of the two of them leaning over a file, shoulders touching, annoys him.

"Hey Casanova, where's your wife?" he shouts from the other end of the hall, and everyone turns to look at him. Chase scowls and murmurs something to the woman beside him as House trundles up to the counter.

"You mean ex-wife," he mutters bitterly. "And I have no idea where she is. She moved out of the apartment, and she won't answer my calls.

"Shocking," House mocks. "Seriously, where is she?"

"I. Don't. Know." Chase replies, punctuating each word with an angry slap to the counter. Walking away, he turns back only long enough to scowl at House, and then continues on his way.

That answer is nowhere near good enough, but he knows he's not getting anything more out of Chase. Heading back to his office, he digs up her old personnel file, skimming through it for any hint to her current whereabouts. Unfortunately, that's not much help either. She's got one brother that she's listed as an emergency contact, but he lives in Hong Kong. No listing of any other family. For someone who prides himself on reading people, solving mysteries, he's failed miserably where Cameron is concerned. He realizes anew how little he knows about her, how wrong so many of his assumptions and pre-conceived notions were. Now that _need to know_ feeling is like a leaking faucet, a constant dripping that is slowly driving him insane.

XXXXXX

The thing about Cameron is this: she's true north. Eventually he seeks her out whenever she leaves. It's as if he can't help it. Some part of him wants the light, the guidance that she brings. There's a need within him to hone in on her, uncover the mysteries within her.

At the moment, he's aimless, a leaf fluttering in the wind. His soaps, cooking, a consult on a patient? All brief distractions from what's really occupying his active mind.

Until he gets his medical license back, this is what he does. Distracts himself and thinks of her.

Standing in Wilson's kitchen, he whisks together the ingredients for an omelette. Butter sizzles in a pan on the stove, filling the room with its scent. He pours the egg mixture in and watches as it bubbles, waiting for the right moment to fold the omelette in half. With a deft flick of his wrist, he flips it, gives it a moment more to cook and then scoops it onto his plate. He plucks a fork from the drawer and digs in.

And he thinks of stars. The energy, the heat, the gravitational pull...

A manila folder rests on the corner of the counter, a bland package that holds the answers to the mysteries of the universe. Scolding himself for such melodramatic thoughts, he slides the envelope over and breaks the seam with Wilson's favorite paring knife. Two small slips of paper fall out: a bill from Lucas that he tosses in the trash, and her address. He folds that one in half and places it in his shirt pocket, right next to his heart. He knows his destination now, the direction is clear.

Grabbing his jacket and helmet, he leaves the apartment, mounting his motorcycle and revving the engine before speeding off.

He heads north.

XXXXXX

He opens wide the throttle on his motorcycle, and speeds across town, dodging traffic easily. The road unfurls before him like a spool of silver ribbon. On his bike, he's as sleek and graceful as an Olympic runner, not a cripple whose every movement is hindered by his damaged thigh. The bike frees him to forget for a while that he's not like everybody else, makes him feel normal for a while.

Slowing a bit, he turns down her street and finds her address easily. Cameron's boring sedan, with its _I brake for puppies _bumper sticker which he put there himself while she was pulling a double shift in the ER, is parked in front of the garage. He comes to a stop in front of her house to admire the place for a minute. It sits back from the road, a little more secluded, looking as if it's thumbing its nose at the neighbors, with its weather-beaten porch and peeling paint. It's the crippled genius of the neighborhood, he thinks. Quirky, broken down and completely unique, with an air of _I don't give a crap if I'm unconventional_ about it that speaks to him. He pictures it all fixed up, a place to call home after a long day at work. One that doesn't have the stigma of drug addiction and failed relationships attached to it.

Pounding on the front door, he pauses to listen. From the inside he hears a... power saw, he thinks, and then silence, at which time he pounds again. And then he hears footsteps coming toward him and she's swinging open the door, sporting faded jeans, a worn henley, and a thin layer of sawdust. In place of makeup, she wears streaks of dirt and beads of sweat. Bits of wood cling to strands of her hair, and he can't resist reaching out and plucking one off, letting it fall from his fingers and spiral to the floor beneath him.

Her eyebrows rise and her mouth turns down at the sight of him. "House," she says, a mixture of surprise and unhappiness in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to see the new place," he replies, as if he's known she was here all along. He peers in over her shoulder, trying to get a good look at the inside of the house. "Gonna give me the grand tour?"

Her stare is unamused and he's reminded of another time when he stood at her door, wanting something from her that she was unwilling to give. At least not without conditions.

_"You'll come back to work if I go on a date with you?"_

_She nods, a self-satisfied smile on her face. _

They're way past the date stage now, and he's floundering, wondering what he can say or do to make her let him in. The only thing he has to offer now is his stubborn persistence, with a small side of blackmail. "It's interesting that Chase doesn't know you're here. It's almost like you don't want him to find you. Be a shame if someone let slip your new location."

She sighs and relents, stepping back to let him in. "Fine," she says, and motions half-heartedly with her hand, waving him toward the hall. "How did you know I was here?"

"Didn't," he lies. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw your car."

She narrows her eyes at him, not certain whether he's being truthful or not. Knowing House, he probably had his PI buddy hunt her down, or worse, put a tracking device on her car. She wouldn't put anything past him.

"Feel free to look around," she says. "I've got work to do." With that, she retreats to the back of the house, intent on ignoring him. She hopes he'll satisfy his curiosity, grow bored and leave in due time.

Her indifference surprises him. He figured she'd either tell him to get lost or start firing personal questions at him like a spray of bullets.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he shouts to her retreating back.

Moving through the rooms of her house, he takes a quick survey, noting the impressively detailed renderings she has taped to a wall of each room. He lingers a moment in the library, with its wall to wall built-in shelving in varying states of decline, and its large stone fireplace, blackened with soot from years of use, and he pictures a piano in the corner of the room by the front windows and a leather couch in front of the fire.

Cameron is in the wannabe kitchen at the back of the house, laying new slats of hardwood flooring side by side. Once again she doesn't acknowledge him. He prepares an oral sex joke at the sight of her on her knees, but it's wasted when she gets up and heads to the table saw and sets it to shrieking again as she cuts a piece of wood. When the silence returns, he stares her down until she meets his gaze.

"Still attracted to damaged things, I see," he mocks. "What? You couldn't fix people, so you've turned to houses now?"

Her determination to ignore him waivers just long enough to offer up a tepid response. "That's right, House. You've got me all figured out."

The nail gun emits an airy popping sound as she secures another slat in place, unaffected as he stands there watching. At least, she tells herself she's unaffected and hopes her actions and demeanor convey indifference to him. She can't let herself get drawn back into the black hole that surrounds him, stealing light from everything he touches. He's done enough damage already. Refusing to look at him again, she continues to work as if he's not there. A moment later he's gone, his sneakers and cane making little squeaking noises on the old floors in the hallway as he leaves.

Shaking his head, he realizes she's in that stubborn place, vehemently protecting her secrets.

_"I like damaged people, remember? Explains everything about me." _

Not everything. Not even close.

_"Sometimes the answers just aren't that simple."_

There is nothing about her that is simple. But if he's going to figure her out, he's going to have to bide his time, much as he hates the idea of waiting. Patience has never been his strongest quality. But he'll stick around until she throws him out or he gets his answers. Whichever comes first.

He leaves the kitchen and heads back to the library for a better look. Inside the room, he touches, pokes, and sniffs just about everything in sight. He likes how she's made the room a sort of command central, with a makeshift kitchen and scruffy leather chair and various items on the shelves. Despite the dust and damage, it's a comfortable room. The bookshelves were once a work of art, he can tell, as he runs his hand along the fine mahogany grain. In the corner, he finds packages of sandpaper, and the next thing he knows, he's running a piece of it over the wood, back and forth in an almost musical rhythm, watching with satisfaction as what was once rough and splintered becomes smooth as baby skin.

XXXXXX

Engrossed in her work again, Cameron assumes House has gone. She has no idea how much time has passed, but when she takes her iPod buds out of her ears she hears a scraping sound. Heart thumping, and imagination on overdrive, she grabs a long screwdriver out of her tool chest and tucks it into her back pocket. Spying her crow bar on the floor, she hoists it to her shoulder like Johnny Damon's Louisville slugger and goes off to investigate, prepared to do battle with any intruder.

Stepping into the library quietly, she finds House standing in front of the shelves with a piece of sandpaper in his grasp. His biceps flex as he runs the sandpaper smoothly over the surface of the wood, back and forth. His actions are hypnotic; all she can do is stare. And then he turns and pins her with that blue, blue gaze. Do not engage, she tells herself. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Before he says a word, she flees back to the kitchen. But now she is acutely aware of him, just two rooms away, repairing her shelves while wreaking havoc on her emotional state.

XXXXXX


	5. Let Yourself In

The act of sanding the bookshelves is soothing, an almost thoughtless motion that allows his busy thoughts to wander to Cameron. There's a sort of hopeful feeling stirring inside him now that he's found her. He's got an endless loop of questions he wants answers to, and now that she's so close, he's going to get his answers. The plan is to be patient, win her over with small things while giving her space to get used to his presence. Like smoothing away her defenses with metaphorical sandpaper, he thinks.

Hours pass; his stomach rumbles as a reminder of the time. Rooting through Cameron's mini refrigerator, he finds bottled water and just enough healthy green stuff to keep a rabbit satisfied for maybe a day at the most. Beneath a bowl of apples is a small package of sliced turkey breast and some cheese. There's bread on the table; he could make himself a sandwich, but he realizes he doesn't need just food. He needs reinforcements to keep his impatient nature in check: music would be good, and maybe his portable television.

He leaves just long enough to get the stuff he wants, and then lets himself in through the back door without bothering to knock. On his way through the kitchen, he drops a bag of fast food in front of Cameron and says, "Don't let your ass get too bony. It won't be nearly as stunning," and then continues on his way back to the study.

He sits in her leather arm chair and scarfs down a burger and fries, and then gets back to work. Much like cooking, restoring the shelves is an enjoyable distraction from his Vicodin cravings and the pain in his leg. Lost in the task and thinking of Cameron two rooms away, time slips by unnoticed again.

But he's still there when the moon is high in the sky and Cameron's ready to crash from exhaustion. Stepping into the study, she watches him for a moment. The sleeves of his t-shirt hug his upper arms just right, and her mind wanders to a more lustful place. Shaking out of those thoughts, she clears her throat to get his attention.

He looks over at her, his hand hovering over the shelf that he's working on.

"It's late," she says. "I want to go to bed."

"Very direct," he says. "I like it. Let's go." And he waggles his eyebrows at her comically.

Rolling her eyes, she clarifies. "I meant, you need to go home now."

"Sure you did," he quips. But he puts his things down and grabs his cane when he sees she's not playing. "Fine," he says, and gives a dismissive wave as he limps out the front door.

Locking up behind him, she can't help but watch as he speeds off on his motorcycle, and she wonders if he'll ever come back.

XXXXXX

Coming through the front door, the first thing House notices is the decidedly feminine jacket thrown over the back of the couch and the two wine glasses abandoned on the coffee table. He drops his keys on the table in the entry way and shrugs out of his coat. A quick glance in the kitchen and he sees the remains of Wilson's pot roast on the stove. As he moves toward the couch, his cane leaves little divots in the freshly vacuumed rug. Grasping the edge of the jacket in his fingers, his lips quirk up in a devious little smile. He'd recognize it even if it didn't have a baby slobber stain on one shoulder or smell of familiar perfume.

Cuddy. From the sound of the ecstatic screeching emanating from Wilson's room, he'd say she's enjoying herself quite enthusiastically.

"Wilson!" he yells, while simultaneously pounding on the bedroom door. "Someone dying in there? Should I call 911?"

The moaning stops and he hears murmured conversation and he can't help but grin maniacally. A moment later, Wilson opens the door a crack and peeks his head out, giving House a _what the hell _look.

"What? I heard strange noises and I got concerned."

Stepping out, Wilson closes the door behind him and says, "Where the hell have you been? We've... I mean I've been worried."

"Cut the crap, I know you've got Lisa Partypants Cuddy in there. Let me guess, you were so worried about me you took comfort in each others' arms. That is so cliched, even for you, Wilson."

Wilson runs a hand through his already mussed hair and sighs. "We _were_ worried, and yes, it sort of just happened. Look House, I know you and she..."

"Oh relax. I'm not jealous or pining for Cuddy. I was interested, and then I wasn't and then I was and now I'm over it."

"Oh... well... good." He runs a hand over the back of his neck, pausing before saying, "Where have you been?"

"Out," is the only answer House is willing to give.

Reaching out, Wilson brushes something off House's arm. "Is that... sawdust on you?" he asks, inspecting the substance that is now on his hand. "You're not back on the Vicodin are you?"

"No Dad," he says, barely refraining from shouting, "And you can tell Mom I'm in before curfew."

He is so tired of both Wilson and Cuddy acting like over-protective parents. He had less supervision at Mayfield. And he sure as hell doesn't want to keep coming home to the sounds of the two of them in the midst of coital bliss.

Toeing off his shoes, he flops onto his bed and thinks of Cameron, of the quiet turmoil she stirs within him. He falls asleep and dreams of his north star.

XXXXXX

House does return to her home, again and again. In his true House way, he comes in and takes over a space as if he's always owned it and the study is no exception. The only thing that would make the room more his is a baby grand in the corner, she thinks. Sometimes, in unguarded moments, she imagines it there, its polished surface reflecting light from the bank of windows in the front of the room.

In the thick layer of dust on the floor is a three legged trail of foot and cane prints leading from the back door, through the hallway and right to his spot by the shelves. Passing her in the kitchen each day, he grunts a greeting and makes his way to the study where he gets right to work. He works quietly on his own, doesn't pester her with questions or pry into her personal life, which is both a relief and a disappointment to her. Despite her resolve to shut him out, there is a part of her that knows he makes the place feel more like home. He hasn't just moved into her study, but also a large corner of her heart. She is not unaware of her own contradictory feelings about his presence. It's finding a way to resolve them that troubles her. Should she kick him out before more of heart gets involved, or let him stay and risk well, more of her heart getting involved?

He's stocked her mini fridge with beer, and he's constantly plying her with take out, which they eat out of the styrofoam containers, but mostly they work separately and stay out of each other's way. House is playing at something, she's sure, and she's just holding her breath each day waiting for... whatever it is.

Each night she goes to bed whenever she's ready, bidding him goodnight and leaving him be if he's still there; he lets himself in and he lets himself out. But she's fixated on him as she tries to sleep each night, his quiet presence, his motives for showing up each day, how long he'll keep coming back.

In the mornings, long before he's probably even out of bed, she heads into the study and inspects his work, which is exceptional. She can't fathom how he's managed it, somehow dragging in supplies when she wasn't looking. He's also brought in some of his belongings: his portable TV, a dozen or so CDs and a CD player, a handful of books, among other things. A small jar of lollipops that looks disturbingly similar to the one from the clinic sits on the table next to the coffee maker and she's reminded of how often he has something in his mouth: coffee stirrer, tongue depressor, straw, lollipop... An oral fixation that is such a turn on. She imagines that mouth, that tongue working its wicked magic on her body and she ends up in the shower trying to relieve some of the tension.

Her work in the kitchen is coming to an end. She has painted the walls a color called wheatgrass, a soft mix of beige, yellow, and gold. The floors are done, sanded smooth and stained. The cabinets and appliances are scheduled to arrive soon, so she's works on getting everything out of the way, hauling debris out to the dumpster and moving paint supplies to another room. After the cabinets, she'll have granite countertops installed and then her kitchen will be done.

Glancing around with pride in her work, she imagines it completed, a chef's dream kitchen, just as she wanted. Her cooking skills are rusty, and she's never much enjoyed the activity in the first place. Since college and medical school, preparing a meal wasn't much more involved than heating something up in the oven or microwave. But she still wants the dream kitchen, just in case she decides to take it more seriously. The fact that House has taken up cooking as a hobby has nothing to do with it. Coincidence. That's all. Sheer coincidence.

XXXXXX

The delivery guys arrive with her cabinets, and she is nearly bouncing with excitement. She meets them at the front door and leads them to the back of the house where the kitchen is. After several trips, the boxes are all standing in the kitchen like a sea of cardboard islands. Once they're all unloaded, delivery guy number one wants to know where they'll be installing each one.

Rolling her eyes at him, she gives him a tight smile and says, "You won't. I'll be installing them myself."

He makes a scoffing sort of cough, and replies, "These cabinets are heavy, Miss. You'll need someone to put them in for you."

Her mouth is open, ready to put him in his place, when House casually limps in, bottle of water in hand. "Problem in here?" he asks before taking a swig and swinging his gaze between her and the delivery guy.

"Sir, I was just explaining to your wife that these cabinets need to be installed by professionals. They're very heavy, and if any of them are damaged during installation, the warranty won't apply."

Cameron gapes at the man, her ire increasing by the second. She's not some fragile, helpless little doll, and she's about to tell the bastard that he can stick his warranty up his condescending ass.

"Your concern is duly noted," House retorts, cutting her off. "Why don't you just make a note on the invoice that the homeowner, who by the way, can not only wield a power saw like a pro, but can also kill you in your sleep while making it look like natural causes, will be installing them herself."

The two of them have a stare down for a few seconds before the man relents, jotting down a note on the invoice and passing it to House to sign, who scowls and passes it to Cameron. Once she signs it, she thrusts it back angrily at the delivery guy and taps her foot on the floor as he tears off her copy.

"Thanks for your input," House snarks. "Adios!" And with that he waves toward the front door, ushering the men down the hall and slamming the door behind them.

She's so angry, she's prepared to rip into House when he returns, for thinking he had to come to her rescue. But he doesn't give her the satisfaction. Instead he goes back to the study and resumes his work as if nothing happened.

The cardboard boxes that contain the cabinets take the brunt of her anger. She rips the first few open almost ferociously before she calms down. Of course, the cabinets are heavy, but she's had a plan for that all along, one that doesn't require the brawn of some chauvinistic delivery guys.

She works all day, tearing open box after box and arranging the cabinets in the order that they need to go in for installing and then putting up the decorative molding that goes above the upper cabinets. She doesn't acknowledge House as he continues to work in his study. Sometime around lunch he plops a sandwich down near where she's working, commands her to eat, and leaves her be. Smiling, she thinks he can be incredibly sweet on occasion. But... she frowns and dismisses thoughts like those right away. She can't afford to get attached to him again. This is her new life, which doesn't include House.

XXXXXX

That night, she showers and then crawls into bed, exhausted. Just as her eyes are drifting shut, the bed dips beside her and she jerks her head to the right to see House stretching out in her bed.

"House! What the hell are you doing?"

"Tired. Going to sleep," he mutters. "Thought that was obvious."

"You can't sleep here. Go home."

"Can't. I brought the bike today."

"So. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Have you looked out the window in the last few hours?"

"No, why?" Getting out of bed, she peeks behind the curtains to see snow falling from the inky sky like New Year's confetti. The street is coated with a thick layer of white. "But it's... mid April. It's Spring," she complains. "This is ridiculous."

"Tell that to Mother Nature," he replies, plumping the pillow beneath his head.

"House, you still can't sleep in here."

"Where would you have me sleep, Cameron? On that big comfortable couch in your... Oh wait, it's covered with tarps and boxes. How about the extra bed in the guest room? Right, you don't have an extra bed in the guest room. Looks like you're stuck with me for the night."

Giving up, she sighs heavily and mutters, "Fine," before turning away from him and closing her eyes.

Within minutes his heavy breathing, just on the verge of snoring, tells her he's asleep. But she, completely exhausted just moments before, is keyed up now. Frustrated. Aggravated. Getting out of the bed, she marches into the kitchen, intent on working out her annoyances with... well, work. But then she realizes that she'll probably just end up waking him and that won't work either.

Moving into the study, she plops herself down in the leather chair to think. Over on the one section of shelves that are finished now, she sees House has brought over another stack of his books. The room feels more like his than hers now, as he's slowly taken it over. This whole thing has gone too far. She let it go too far. It was one thing to let him come here and work on the shelves, but now he's in her bed too. The whole reason she bought the house and began to restore it was to have something that was all her own, with no memories of her past attached. But now, when he decides he's bored and leaves, what will she be left with? More memories. He's tainted this room and now her bedroom, her bed, as well. Once he's gone, the loneliness will be more acute than she can stand. She'll have to sell the house and move on, make a new start elsewhere, she realizes. Again.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, she looks up to find House, hair mussed and sleepy eyes, standing in the doorway.

"Thinking," she snaps, hoping he'll go back to bed and leave her alone.

"Thought you were exhausted?"

"I was. Now I'm not."

"What's the problem, Cameron?" He stands there gripping his cane, the leaning tower of impatience.

"Nothing. Just... go back to sleep."

"Right. I'll just leave you out here to clench all night while I sleep peacefully in your bed."

That angers her even more. "What do you want, House?"

"I want you to come back to bed." He looks chagrined when the words fly out of his mouth and immediately changes tact. "I want you to tell me what you're so angry about. I have a lot of mad skills, but mind reading isn't one of them."

She lets her head fall forward into her hand and considers telling him. After a moment, she realizes it's better to just say it now. He'll ferret out the truth eventually. He always does.

"Fine. I'm angry because you... You take over everything." she blurts. "I bought this house because I loved it and I wanted to restore it. On my own. And because I wanted to have something that was completely detached from all the people and memories at the hospital. I'm trying to get away from all that, and you... you come in here like you own the place. It was one thing when you just worked in here, but now... now you're sleeping in my bed."

"Like you haven't wanted me in your bed for years," he jokes.

"I'm serious, House. I wanted something separate from Chase and you and... everything. I wanted to make a new start."

"That's bullshit," he retorts, smacking his cane on the floor. "You didn't want to make a new start. Maybe you thought you did, but you're still here. In Princeton. You've moved a grand total of two and a half miles. Truth is you still want to be here. And you want me here too."

She glares at him, pushing herself up from the chair. "I didn't invite you here," she responds, practically spitting the words. "I didn't ask you to keep coming back day after day and I didn't invite you to sleep in my bed. You did all those things on your own."

"YES," he yells, "But you sure as hell didn't protest. You could've told me to leave at any time, but you didn't, 'cause deep down you like having me here."

His eyes are like the arc of a welder's flame, cutting right through her defenses. Defeated, she plops back down in the chair. She knows he's right. She fooled herself into thinking that she didn't want him there and he'd leave if she ignored him, but the truth is, she just didn't want to have to tell him to leave, because he just might have listened.

"You're right," she admits, glancing up at him briefly before studying the grain in the hardwood floors. "I'm not over you. So what am I supposed to do when you get bored and leave again?" With that question, she feels raw and naked before him, fully expecting him to flee now that she's laid herself bare.

Instead he moves closer, towering over her and waiting until she looks at him to respond. "I like it here," he says. "I like working here with you. Being here with you. This place... feels like home. I can't make any guarantees, but I want to stay. I want to try." He reaches out a hand to her, and after a moment she takes it, seeing in his eyes that he's serious. Pulling her to her feet, he says, "Can we go to bed now?"

Nodding, she leads him down the hall and back to her bedroom, crawling between the sheets and suddenly feeling awkward as he slides in beside her. A moment or two of silence follows, and then he says, "We're both awake now. We might as well make the best of it."

"What do you me..?"

He cuts her off with a kiss, one hand sliding beneath her shirt and all awkwardness falls away to be replaced by long suppressed desire. In a rush of lust she grabs his head and kisses him with all the pent up sexual frustration she's been carrying for him for six years. His hands are busy peeling off her clothes and touching her everywhere. Each touch leaves an imprint, his fingerprints on her skin and on her heart.

XXXXXX


	6. Make Yourself at Home

The next morning she wakes to find his arm thrown across her stomach, his face planted in the pillow. His mouth hangs open a little and his hair is sticking up at all angles. He looks rumpled and adorably sexy. The sheet rests halfway down his bare back and she admires the muscles of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, that spot on his neck where his stubble ends and smooth skin begins. Her mind goes immediately to the night before when she touched him freely and his hands and mouth did things to her that were even better than she imagined, and she is almost instantly aroused again.

She watches him sleep for a few minutes and wonders about his dreams, whether they have changed without the influence of narcotics. His mind is never idle; she imagines his dreams must be rather wild and trippy. Maybe he dreams about his favorite soap characters and medical mysteries and music. Maybe his dreams are erotic or maybe the pain of his leg influences his subconscious thoughts. Whatever they are, he's here with her, in her bed, naked and at peace for the moment.

For a man who is so often rude and dismissive, he attracts quite a number of women. And he could be with one of them now, his very attractive biceps thrown over another woman's stomach as he sleeps in her bed. Cuddy, the woman from Mayfield the rumor mill says he slept with, the nutritionist from the clinic, even Stacy, the one woman she knows for sure he loved... the list is long and disheartening. Why he's here with her instead, she's not sure. But she's under no delusions that he's in love with her.

Slipping out of the bed, she puts her robe on just as he wakes, sitting up with a grunt and clutching his thigh. She tenses and moves to his side, ready to do whatever she can to ease his pain. He mutters, "pants," through clenched teeth, and she rushes over and grabs his jeans off the floor and brings them to him.

Pulling a bottle of Gabapentin from the pocket, he tosses a couple back and continues to rub his thigh with the palm of his hand. The way he sits, naked and slightly stooped in pain, touches her. He moves with the same sense of presence that he has when clothed, filling up a room without even trying. He has no idea how beautiful he is, she thinks.

"Do you want to soak in the tub?" she asks. "It has jets. It might help."

"Don't think I could get in there," he replies.

"I could help you."

Surprising her, he agrees with a short nod, and she tells him she'll be right back. In the bathroom, she turns on the taps until steam rises from the tub, and adds a tiny drop of bubble bath. While the tub fills, she puts on a pot of coffee.

Back in the bedroom, she asks if he's ready and he gives her a little nod. His jeans are once again discarded on the floor and he makes no effort to cover himself, comfortable with his nudity, his exposed scars, in a way that intrigues her. He is such a strange mix of vulnerability and confidence. Leaning over him, she helps him stand and he drapes his left arm over her shoulder. The fingers of her left hand curve around his rib cage, and her right hand wraps around his forearm. Together, they make their way into the bathroom, she in her bathrobe and him completely naked.

"If you sit on the edge, I can help you swing your legs over and in," she suggests and he rolls his eyes at her, but complies. A moment later he is shoulder deep in hot sudsy water, and he lets out a sigh of pleasure. She leaves him for a moment and returns with a cup of coffee for him which she sets on the edge of the tub.

Taking a sip, he grimaces, and says, "You still make crappy coffee."

She purses her lips, but otherwise ignores him until he tugs on the hem of her robe. "You coming in?" he asks.

Her eyebrows rise and she opens and closes her mouth, an apprehension coming over her. Sex is one thing. She's comfortable with sex. But bathing together implies a level of intimacy that she's not sure she's prepared for.

"What? You can't possibly be shy now. I've already seen you naked. Get in here."

Giving in, she pulls her hair up into a messy twist, securing it with a clip. She takes off her robe, acutely aware of his eyes on her, making her feel even more exposed and self-conscious. She slides into the tub, all the way at the other end from him which makes him roll his eyes again and grab her arm, pulling her around until her back is resting against his chest. "Relax," he commands.

She tries to relax, but it feels so strange and... intimate, with his wet skin against her own, the steam rising from the water, the scent of jasmine surrounding them, the soft fizzling sound of the bubbles, and the rise and fall of his chest beneath her shoulder blades. Between her legs is an ache, a pleasant reminder of the night before, and she focuses on the memory of his body inside her, his swelling erection filling her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she closes her eyes and sighs. This thing between them has been building for years, and yet she feels as unprepared as a boat at sea in a sudden storm.

His hand rests on her stomach and he doesn't move for several moments. She wonders if he fell asleep, but a moment later his hand starts moving and she can feel his arousal against her back. And ohgod he is stroking her breast and kissing her neck and all she can think is yes, yes, yes.

XXXXXX

An hour later, she is dressed and ready to head out to the home improvement warehouse to get supplies. House is scarfing down a bagel and staring at her newly installed cabinets.

"I have to go out and pick up some things," she tells him, throwing on her jacket.

"Great. You can drop me off at Wilson's first," he says, as if it's a foregone conclusion that it won't be a problem.

"Come on then," she replies with an amused shake of her head at his arrogance. And she walks out without waiting for him to get his coat. A moment later he's in the passenger seat of her car, half a bagel still in his hand. As they set off, she notices that the snow from the night before is already melting away. She has no idea where Wilson has moved, so House gives her directions, but otherwise they don't talk. Once she's parked in front of Wilson's building, House shocks her by leaning over and giving her a quick kiss. "See ya later," he says, and all she can do is mutter something that is a cross between "right" and "okay" with a little bit of "oh" thrown in, which comes out like, "Roh..kay." He's out the door before she can add anything that is actually coherent.

She spends a few hours in a daze as she picks up supplies for her kitchen. House is so unpredictable, but the one thing she knows for sure is that he's not one for committed relationships. Maybe he was once. Before his leg and Stacy's betrayal. But the last few years have shown her, well.... he likes _women_. Plural. She accepts that. She has no idea how long he'll stick around. If he gets bored, or goes back on the Vicodin, that will be the end. She has no illusions that she can keep him from either of those fates. Fixing him has never been on her agenda, regardless of what he thinks about her. She just wants him to be happy, but her fear is that happiness might be an ambitious goal for House, even in his current frame of mind. And if he wants to go back to his misery, well... then she'll have to adjust to being alone again. Which, she tells herself, will be much easier if she doesn't get too used to having him in her life.

XXXXXX

Back at Wilson's, House is throwing his clothes into a suitcase. He contemplates life post-Mayfield and wonders if he'll feel less... oversight staying with Cameron. Living with Wilson has its advantages, or it used to anyway; he won't deny that it was fun for a while. Staying though, he thinks, will put a crimp in their friendship and he's selfish enough not to let that happen. Working together, living together, socializing together... it's all too much. He feels stuck. After Mayfield he gained some traction, some forward momentum, and he wants to get that back. It's time to climb out of his hole.

Of course, he might run into the same problems with Cameron, but right now he's willing to take that risk.

She's changed. He knows he would not be able to live with the Cameron of years past; the naive girl he hired who thought that beneath his crusty exterior beat the heart of a hero. He's opened her eyes to who he really is, and yet somehow she lets him stay in her life. The Cameron he knows now is stronger, more guarded; she's his equal. He thinks they just might be able to tolerate one another now.

It's a big step, he knows. He hasn't lived with a woman since Stacy. Hasn't wanted to until now. There's a level of trust required to cohabitate, a trust he's only now pulling out of a remote corner of his psyche, dusting it off and spit-shining it. But then, if there's one thing that hasn't changed about Cameron, it's her determination to be... well, trustworthy.

Looking around the room, he gathers up only the most important things and tosses them on the bed. He limps into Wilson's room and finds a box in the closet that holds a bunch of old golfing trophies. Dumping them on the floor, he brings the box back to his room and places his things in it. Carefully, he places his guitars in their cases and puts them beside the box and his suitcase.

Moving back to the door, he sticks his head out and hollers at the first person he sees, which happens to be a teenage boy with a skateboard and about a dozen piercings. The kid stops and looks at House curiously. Waving a twenty dollar bill, he waves the teen over.

"Love the piercings. They really bring out the red in your zits. This is yours if you haul some stuff to my car."

Looking suspicious, the kid scratches his nose and eyes House up and down.

"I'm not into kiddie porn, if that's what you're worried about," he snaps. "Got a bum leg," he explains, waving his cane.

Acne boy accepts, holding his hand out for the money.

"Work first, cash later," House replies, sticking the money in his shirt pocket.

With a shrug, the kid follows House in and begins bringing the stuff out to House's car. Once his things are loaded, he gives the kid the money, throwing in some advice for free. "You might want to spend it on acne cream," he calls out, as the boy pushes off on his skateboard, wheeling down the street, tossing up his middle finger as he goes.

House gets in his car and heads back to Cameron's place. Just as he hoped, she's not home yet. Lugging his suitcase in, he takes it right into her bedroom and into the closet where he unloads his clothes, hanging his button downs right next to her fussy vests and blouses, and storing his other things in the empty drawers. While he's at it, he takes a moment to peek into Cameron's drawers and appreciate her choice of undergarments.

The sight of their things mixed together is strange and not altogether unpleasant, he thinks. He makes a mental note to loan her one of his button downs one night soon, a crisp white dress shirt preferably, and he imagines how sexy she'll look in it, all slender legs and the hint of skin where the buttons almost meet the button holes.

He thinks of the changes he's making and a time in the not too distant past when he resisted any change at all, and he smiles at a memory.

_"All change is bad. It's not true, you know?"_

No, it's not true, he thinks, with a smile.

XXXXXX

Cameron unloads her things in the corner of the kitchen and heads to her bedroom to change into her work clothes. Inside her closet, she is stunned to see House's wrinkled button downs hanging beside her blouses. Jerking open some drawers, she finds more of his things stuffed inside. She can't believe he's just... moving in, apparently. Without an invitation or her consent. His presumptuousness has reached new levels.

Storming into the study, she finds him working on the shelves, iPod buds in his ears. He looks peaceful, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, and she wonders what goes on in that labyrinth of a mind of his. He's got a fine coating of dust on his jeans and sneakers and sticking to the hairs of his arm and it's strangely erotic. She's mesmerized by the movements of his arms, the firm precision of his hands and fingers. He is a man of many talents, which has always fascinated her. A moment later, he glances up to find her standing there and pulls out his ear buds.

"Hey," he says. Casual.

"Why are your clothes in my closet?" she starts, shaking off her lustful thoughts and getting straight to the point.

"Because I'd look silly wearing yours," he deadpans.

"House!"

"What? I thought we went over this last night. I told you I like it here and that I wanted to stay."

"I didn't know you meant you wanted to move in," she replies, incredulous.

"Well now you know."

"I thought you were living with Wilson. What happened?"

He makes a pained face, and says, "Probably wasn't the best idea to move in with my drug connection."

She has no response to that. She'd like to believe that Wilson wouldn't give House Vicodin, but then, she's really not sure. He's a self-confessed enabler, so maybe House _is _better off elsewhere.

"Don't you still have your apartment?" she asks, not because she's trying to chase him away, but because she's honestly curious.

"Sure," he shrugs. "But Dr. Nolan doesn't think I should live alone for a while."

"Ah," she answers, not sure what else to say. He's never been one to do what he's told, so part of her is surprised that he's following Nolan's advice, but another part of her acknowledges that he's changing. Or at least trying to, and who is she to discourage him.

As if he's tracking her thoughts, he says, "You were wrong, you know? I mean, you were right, but you were also wrong."

Narrowing her eyes, she just stands there waiting for him to elaborate.

"I was getting better, but then... you were right. I forgot that behind the symptoms is a human being with feelings. I forgot that people matter. But you were wrong when you said I couldn't be saved. I'm trying."

"I'm glad," she murmurs, for lack of anything else to say, giving him a small smile and turning to go to the kitchen to work.

He grins and follows her, curious to see what she's planning for the day. She's got the decorative trim up and it looks great, but he figures there's no way she can do the upper cabinets by herself. But then, this is Cameron, and if there's one thing he's learned it's never to underestimate her.

Standing in the middle of the room, she's studying the computer rendering of the completed kitchen and eyeing the wall where the upper cabinets will hang.

"Need some help in here?"

Startled, she nearly drops the paper, amazed at how good he is at sneaking up on people. "I could use a hand putting in the rest of the cabinets," she answers.

"Great. Let's make a deal. I'll help you in here until this room is done, and then we finish the study next." His eyebrows are raised expectantly, waiting for an answer. While he's eager to get the study done so he can move his piano in and fill up all the shelves with his things, he's almost as eager to have the kitchen finished so he can work on his newly acquired culinary skills. Cameron's plan for the kitchen is a cook's dream, with a six burner gas range and grill, two built in ovens and a large refrigerator/freezer. He has a sudden urge to cook for Cameron, to hear moans of pleasure coming from her mouth that are brought on not just by his bedroom skills, but also by the meals he creates.

"Oh...kay," she responds, having expected something more devious or sexual, which is usually the case when House wants to make a deal. Regardless, she's pleased to have his help.

House helps her lift the first cabinet into place and then holds it while she makes sure it's level and screws it in. Standing on the ladder above him, his arms brush against her hip and she finds herself worrying about this fixation she has with his biceps. They're just muscles, she tells herself. Lots of men have them, but she's never found herself waxing poetic over any other man's arms. It's a bit disturbing how the slightest things about him, things she'd otherwise pay little attention to in other men, can set her so off balance. The exact shade of blue of his eyes, the way he manages to keep his stubble just the right length, the casual, confident way he carries himself, the careful balance between carelessness and effort that he puts into what he wears-- it all adds up to one extremely attractive man. She finds herself mildly aroused and looking forward to bedtime.

"Cameron, are you going to screw that in today, or were you just planning on turning me into a human pillar?"

Startled, she realizes she's been standing on the ladder staring off into space. "Sorry," she murmurs and sets her mind back on the work at hand. As she sinks the last screw in for the first cabinet, he lets go and they stand back and inspect it.

"Nice," he compliments. "Where'd you learn to do all this, anyway?"

"My dad was a contractor," she answers simply, as they move to the next cabinet and hoist it into place. This time, she avoids looking at his arms as she climbs the step ladder, drill in hand, and gets to work.

"Was?" he asks, and though she can't see his face, she can imagine the look of curiosity there. "Did they kick him out of the club for not..."

She cuts him off with an exasperated, "He passed away, House."

"Oh." He could probably come up with a witty remark, but he stifles the urge. There's no desire in him to make light of her father's death, just a deep longing to know more about it. Her. She's still such a mystery to him, even after six years.

They finish the second cabinet when House's cell phone rings. "Yes mom," House answers with a comical twist of his facial features.

Cameron smiles, and pretends not to be listening as she steps up the ladder and begins placing the shelf holders in the slots where the shelves will go in the two cabinets.

"I am aware of what time it is. I'm also aware that I have no medical license and have been forbidden to treat patients," he snarks. "Give it to Foreman."

"That's why God invented cell phones. Look, I'm busy here. Lots of screwing and drilling going on, if you know what I mean." He's about to hang up, but pauses and listens and then says, "What's the point of putting him in charge if he's useless? Was this an affirmative action thing?" Another pause and then, "Fine. But I can do that over the phone."

Snapping his cell phone shut, he mutters, "You'd think the hospital was flat lining without me," and then chuckles at his joke. "You see what I did there? Flat lining?"

"Yeah, it sucks to be needed," Cameron retorts, a slight note of bitterness in her voice that stops him cold for a moment.

Is that what she thinks, he wonders? That no one needs her? Pondering that for a moment, he sees how she could have come to that conclusion. Chase flicked her aside like a bothersome fly, and when she left the hospital, there was no goodbye, no fanfare. No one came after her and asked her to stay. He always just assumed that she had family, friends, people in her personal life, but now that _he's_ in her personal life, he realizes there is no one. She doesn't even have a Wilson of her own as far as he can tell. He didn't think it possible that there could be someone more pathetic than himself, but he may have just met his match in Cameron. There's no joy in that epiphany.

A few hours pass in companionable silence as they continue to work. The room is finally beginning to resemble a kitchen as more and more cabinets go up. House's mind is busier than his body as he watches Cameron and thinks and wonders about her. And himself. Eventually he works out what's been nagging at him. Every time she's left, or tried to leave, he's been... affected. He's wanted her back. She is needed, he realizes. And he's the one who needs her. He would've scoffed at that notion if it had come to him weeks or months ago. It's not like he can't survive without her. But now, well, he's begun to accept that it's okay to need people in his life. He could live without her if he wanted to. He just doesn't want to. Now the question is, what is it about her that he needs? What is it that keeps him coming back to her?

They've got almost all the upper cabinets in place when Cuddy calls again and orders him to come to work before his team kills their patient.

"Gotta go save someone's life," he tells Cameron, an impatient downturn to his mouth. Grabbing his keys and jacket, he gives her a lingering kiss instead of the usual quick peck on the lips, and says, "I'll see you later."

XXXXXX

At the hospital, Wilson accosts him almost immediately.

"You moved out?" he all but shrieks. "When were you going to tell me? Is this because of me and ..."

"No," House cuts him off. "It's not you, it's me," he jokes. "We can still be friends, but I'm not going to the prom with you anymore."

"House!" Hands on hips, Wilson stands there, mouth agape, waiting for a better answer. Waiting for the truth.

"I'm... with someone," he confesses quietly. "I've moved in with her. She's... helping me. And no, I'm not back on the Vicodin," he answers, anticipating the question before it's asked.

"Oh. Who is she?"

"Gotta go," House says, checking his pager. "Dying patient to save. You know how it is." With that, he enters the elevator just as the doors are closing, leaving no time for Wilson to slide in beside him.

Left standing in the clinic, Wilson can only conclude that House doesn't want to say who it is, because she's married. One name comes to mind; one woman who touched him deeply while he was in Mayfield. Lydia.

XXXXXX


	7. Old Flame Meet New Flame

House's company was pleasant, and now that he's gone off to the hospital she feels a keen sense of loneliness. She's long grown accustomed to his sarcasm and has always loved his wit and humor. Their silences are comfortable, and she realizes she misses working with him like they worked together on the cabinets. They were in sync and she likes that. But warning bells go off in her head again. Once he gets the all clear from Dr. Nolan, he'll probably move right back into his apartment and she'll be alone again.

Telling herself to put him out of her mind for a while, she gets back to work. She can't finish installing the remaining upper cabinets by herself, so she begins on the lower ones, working methodically and efficiently.

When House returns, she is surprised at how many hours have passed. He carries a pizza and gestures her into the study to eat, and she thinks she'd probably starve if it wasn't for him. It's not like she's avoiding food; she just gets so wrapped up in her work she forgets to eat.

As they sit and eat slices of pizza on paper plates, she stifles the urge to ask about his patient. She's curious, but she's not going to let herself get pulled back into that world. He surprises her instead, by complimenting the work she's accomplished and tells her he'll make her a homemade pizza as soon as the kitchen is done and her stomach flips with a pleasurable anticipation at the thought of him cooking for her.

Once they're done eating, they get back to work, falling right back into the rhythm of it.

In the evening when the cabinets are installed and they've screwed on all the door handles and drawer pulls, they head to the bedroom. The steam shower is calling her name, and it seems to be calling House's too as he drops his clothes on the floor and joins her. She'd protest except he's doing that thing with his hands and suddenly she realizes she's been jealous of the bookshelves in the study since the first time he showed up at her door.

Once they're out of the shower, he has the decency to pick up his clothes and put them away. Then he pulls on a clean t-shirt and boxer briefs and flops on the bed, flipping on her television. Unbothered, she picks up a medical journal and begins to read. The next thing she's aware of is waking in the middle of the night to House snoring lightly in her ear, his arm slung haphazardly across her torso. The television is off and her medical journal is on the floor beside the bed. Adjusting her position, she lays one hand gently over his arm and goes back to sleep.

XXXXXX

"Need you to drive me to Nolan's office," he tells Cameron in the morning.

"Why can't you drive yourself?" she asks, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Because I'm in pain," he grumps, his palm sliding over his thigh as he bends forward at the waist and clutches the countertop.

"That never stopped you before," she replies, as he favors her with a withering glare.

"Yeah, well before I could numb it with Vicodin. That's not an option today."

"Alright," she says, grabbing her keys and jacket. "Do you need help getting to the car?"

"I need a ride, not hospice care," he retorts, moving gingerly to the door.

Nearly an hour later she stops the car at the entrance to Nolan's office.

"Come back and get me in an hour," House orders, but softens the command with a quick kiss.

"Okay," she says to the slamming door, stunned again by his random act of affection.

XXXXXX

Slouching in the chair across from Dr. Nolan, he waits, tapping his fingers on the arm rest.

"How are things with Wilson?" Nolan asks, his own fingers busy clicking his pen.

"Peachy."

"Living with him hasn't strained your friendship then?"

"Actually, I moved out." He shifts forward, elbows on his knees and explains, "He had needs, I had needs.... You see the problem?"

"House, we talked about this. About having someone you can be accountable to for a while."

"I know. I've moved in with another doctor from the hospital. Bigger house, more rooms, plenty of space for each of us to have our... space when we need it." He carefully leaves out the part where the doctor in question is Cameron, and that they're in a relationship of sorts now. He'll reveal the specific details only if it becomes relevant to his recovery. "I'm helping renovate the house. Keeps me busy."

"Okay. Good. What's this doctor's name?" Dr. Nolan's pen hovers over House's file, and he peers at House suspiciously.

"Dr. Cameron," House admits, glancing up at Nolan from hooded eyes.

"Dr. Cameron? Your former employee who recently got married? Who recently left her husband and the hospital because she thought you were beyond redemption?"

"She also recently got divorced," House quips, bracing for a lecture.

"I see," Nolan replies. "And you think it's a good idea to begin a relationship with her when she's fresh off a divorce."

"Is that a question?"

"You didn't want to tell me about your new living arrangement. Why is that?"

"Because I knew you'd judge me."

"No, you knew I'd ask probing questions. Is this just another attempt to prove someone wrong?" he asks. "She told you she thought you were beyond saving, and suddenly you're moving in with her. If this is just your way of..."

"It's not like that," he interrupts. One hand rubs over his forehead as he contemplates what to say. "Cameron and I have a history. It's not like before... with Lydia." He steers his gaze out the window, trying to stifle the feeling of being peeled open and examined. "She's... even before she married Chase, there was something between us that I tried pretty hard to ignore for a lot of years. But now I'm connecting with someone like you've encouraged me to do." Turning back, he stares at Nolan, the words coming out much more defensively than he intended, but they're no less true despite the tone.

"Not only that, but... she reminds me that people are more than just tools I can use to get what I want. She reminds me to be human, and I need that right now."

There's a long silence as Nolan waits for him to elaborate.

"Cameron cares... about everyone. She cares too much, in fact. Me, I don't care enough. Maybe we balance each other out." Now that he's begun talking about her, the words begin flowing as if someone has turned on a tap. "I keep letting people I care about walk away. There was always some justification, and maybe some of them were good reasons. Stacy... she couldn't handle the guilt after my leg. And when she came back, she was married and I knew that even if she left her husband, the guilt would return. And I wouldn't have made it easy on her. Guilt is not a good basis for a relationship."

"No, it's usually not," Nolan agrees, encouraging him to continue.

"I let Cameron leave twice before. But she always came back. This time, I knew she wouldn't, and I realized I need her in my life."

"Why?" Nolan probes.

"She speaks the language of love," House says with a shrug. "She's fluent. I like that about her. No one else I know speaks it like she does. And she's stubborn and not afraid to challenge me."

He thinks of her, kneeling before him, treating his self-inflicted cuts while he detoxed and plotted new ways to terrorize rogue cops. In her eyes is a gentle persuasiveness he finds hard to resist. It's that part of her that makes him want to try.

_"House, stop this. Please."_

She's the tide slowly eroding the craggy shoreline until all the sharp points have been smoothed away.

XXXXXX

Cameron parks the car and heads to a nice shaded bench on the grounds of the hospital to wait. The place is quite lovely and peaceful, and she wonders what it was like here for House. She watches the people, patients and their visitors enjoying the outdoors and tries to imagine him there, and suddenly she finds herself crying for him. Each tear is for the House who broke his own fingers to alleviate the pain in his thigh, for the man who nearly died on the grubby floor of a bus in an attempt to save Amber's life, for the man who hated his father so much he had to be drugged and driven to his funeral, for the man who finally grew so desperate for help he checked himself into this place. She cries for all that he's gone through and all the times she just wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but held back because she thought he would reject it.

She cries because she loves him so much, more than he would probably ever accept. More than she can allow herself to show him. It's hard to pinpoint when it all began. Maybe when he asked her to go see monster trucks with him, so awkward and uncertain, or maybe even before that, when she saw him autopsy a cat while detoxing. She'd stood in the doorway watching, his hands shaking as he tried to steady the scalpel, and it touched something deep inside her. It was more than just solving the puzzle that day, it was about being right and saving a life. She thinks maybe that was the moment she began to fall in love with him. But sometimes holding it all in is too much. There's a crack in the dam and it's as if she's been trying to plug it up with a cotton ball.

"Are you okay?"

There's a slight accent to the voice, and when Cameron looks up she sees a woman with short brown hair and lovely brown eyes and a friendly smile. Without waiting for an answer, or an invitation, she sits down beside her and continues speaking.

"This place is a good place," she says. "You have a loved one here?"

"Yes. I mean, no, he was, but now he's just here to see his therapist." Cameron wipes her tears and asks, "What about you?"

"I brought my sister-in-law, Annie, back to visit a friend. She was a patient here for a long time. But now she is much better."

"That's good," Cameron says. "My... friend is doing much better too."

"Then why are you crying?" she asks, and the lilt of her voice is so comforting, that Cameron can't help but like this woman and feel at ease with her, discussing something so personal.

"It's hard to explain," she says. "I just... want him to be happy."

"Ah. That I understand." Her smile is warm, and her fingers toy with the end of the scarf that drapes loosely around her neck. "I'm Lydia," she says.

"I'm Allison Cameron. It's nice to meet you, Lydia."

"Allison. That's a lovely name."

XXXXXX

On his way out of Nolan's office, he is frozen in place at the sight of Lydia and Cameron seated on a bench, chatting like old friends. He never expected to see Lydia again, so the sight of her immobilizes him for a moment. She looks exactly as she did when he last saw her, except less weepy. Cameron, on the other hand, is making up for it with the weepy look. Despite that, she looks ethereal with the dappled sunlight coming through the trees above her and lighting up her hair and skin. A golden angel at an insane asylum.

He wants to go to her and wrap her in his arms, bury his face in her neck, take and give comfort. But Lydia's presence, so unexpected is stirring up a maelstrom of uncertainty. Why is she here? And does it have anything to do with him? What if she wants another chance with him?

As he stands there watching, he can't help but contrast these two women and what it is about them that moves him. Lydia was unfazed by his antics from the beginning, and immediately willing to open herself up to him. It was just what he needed then, something sweet and uncomplicated at first, someone to listen, someone to touch. The threat of losing that in his precarious mental state had complicated things, of course. But if nothing else, his time with Lydia taught him that he could connect, that he could try, that sometimes the pain of goodbye was worth everything else. And Cameron... well she had an intriguing way of making known her feelings for him while remaining closed off at the same time, an unsolved mystery. He recalls countless times when she clenched and something inside him twisted up in an anxious knot. That innate ability of hers to sense his pain, to read the cues he didn't even know he was giving off sometimes, had made him push her away. Because just dealing with the pain was enough without adding his worry about her worry. But still, she has always touched him.

_As he struggles to replace the sling on his arm in order to ease the ache in his shoulder, she reaches forward, stepping into his space and helps him move the strap over his head and settle it around his neck. Her actions, the look in her eyes... he can't look away from her and while his mind is busy analyzing her actions, he's also thinking about how easy it would be to kiss her in that moment._

He sees now that letting her in would have been worth everything else. Letting her in _is _worth everything else.

The idea of facing the two of them together is out of the question. Talk about awkward. He's contemplating the idea of going back inside and calling Cameron's cell phone to tell her to pick him up at another entrance, so he can avoid this whole thing, but just then they both look up at him.

Caught, he limps over to them and is about to say something snarky, when Lydia stands and embraces him.

"Hi," she says into his neck. "It's so good to see you again. I didn't expect to see you here."

Well that answers the question of whether or not she's here for him, he thinks. Cameron catches his eye, and gestures that she'll wait in the car. The downturn of her mouth makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

"It's good to see you too," he murmurs, and then steps back. "But... I really need to go."

Realization dawns on Lydia as she follows his gaze to Cameron. "Oh," she says. "I didn't know she was with you. I'm sorry if I messed things up."

"It's fine," he answers, his cane tapping impatiently on the grass. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought Annie to see Steve," she replies. "They've been writing to each other. I think they're sweet on each other."

"Ah, crazy in love," he quips, and she laughs and he remembers that laugh and suddenly finds himself confessing, "You were good for me here, you know? You mattered. But now... she matters more."

"I understand," she says, smiling again. "We had our moment, and it was lovely. But you should go. Your Allison is... Well I'm glad you have someone who loves you," she says, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek, before walking away.

As he watches her go, he realizes he's finally found some sense of normality and he wouldn't want to give that up to go back to what he had with her, no matter how much she meant to him. Not now when he's come so far. Not when he can have something more permanent.

He's... content; he's on the path to happiness and for him, that's progress.

XXXXXX

From the car, Cameron tries not to watch, but she can't seem to help herself. This has to be the woman, she thinks, the married woman House had an affair with while he was a patient.

They embrace and Lydia kisses his cheek and Cameron's heart feels like it's everywhere at once, throbbing in her throat, flipping around in her stomach, and trying to beat its way out of her skull. It's a struggle to breathe and she's suddenly very angry. Not at him, but at herself. She's been telling herself not to get too attached to House all along and now with the appearance of Lydia, she is overcome with jealousy and the fear of losing him. But then, does she really even have him? He's a roommate. A friend with benefits. That's probably how he sees it anyway. And despite her best efforts to stay detached, she is losing the battle.

When House gets in the car, Cameron says nothing. She acts like nothing happened, and tries to put it out of her mind. She has no hold on him, so if he wanted to be with _her_, he could. Holding her breath, she waits for him to say something, but when he just stares at the road with his chin propped up on his cane, she silently sighs and drives off. His silence is killing her, but she makes no demands of him. That's a mistake she learned from a long time ago. But the little voice in her head is whispering that he's just trying to figure out a way to tell her that he wants to be with Lydia, and all she can do is hold herself together on the long drive back.

XXXXXX

All the way home, he sits silently, waiting for the questions to come. But they never do. Cameron just drives on, eyes stoically fixated on the road. He hates this, but he has no idea how to fix it. Technically he's done nothing wrong, and yet he feels like he cheated on her, which is so ridiculous that it makes him angry. But then, she hasn't accused him of anything, so he's trying to refrain from spewing angry remarks at her that aren't justified. God, he sucks at this. Just when he's reaching the boiling point, and is seriously contemplating throwing himself out of the car, his cell phone rings and he learns from Foreman that he has a patient and needs to get to work. He's never been so happy at the prospect of work.

XXXXXX


	8. Shop 'til You Drop

**A/N: **I apologize for the delay in this. The revisions/additions took longer than I expected. In fact, I've cut this chapter in half, because I'm still working on the second half and I didn't want to continue to delay posting. So, as of now, there will be twelve chapters to this story, instead of eleven. Updates may take a bit longer though.

XXXXXX

The subject of Lydia never comes up. House doesn't know whether to be relieved or not. Life between him and Cameron has settled into a tentative peace, but he can't help but feel that a storm is brewing just over the horizon.

He remembers Stacy confessing that with him she was lonely and he wonders if this is what she felt like. He talks to Cameron; she listens. They have sex, lots of really good sex. But still there's a distance he can't seem to bridge.

The kitchen is all but done. The granite guys have come and installed the countertops and the appliances are all in place. The only thing left is to fill the cabinets with food and dishes. The food part is easy enough, as he drags Cameron out to the grocery store and makes her push the cart while he piles supplies into it. There is something about shopping with her that is so domestic and couple-y, and it pleases him. On the way home they pass a home decor shop and impulsively, he whips the car into the lot and tells her they need... things.

He wants some of the things in the house to be theirs; not just his or hers, but something that belongs to the two of them, that shows their life is melding, becoming something blurrier than two separate people sharing space. It's been years since he shared a home with a woman. With Stacy, he took a lot of things for granted. One being that he'd always be physically whole. But also that little domestic activities can mean so much, because everything can change so quickly. He's been alone long enough to have forgotten that. With Cameron, he loves the routine they've already fallen into: the morning baths and working together on the renovations. He wants more though. Wants to cook for her, wants to learn the things she likes and the things she loves and how their individual tastes will blend.

He wants to know... every little thing about her.

XXXXXX

House in the kitchen department is like a child unleashed in Santa's workshop. He touches everything, picks up items, shakes them, and generally makes an adorable nuisance of himself. Cameron can't help but smile in amusement. She thinks, with a note of sadness, that this is what life could be like all the time if only he loved her, if only she could be sure he wanted to stay for good.

She picks out wine glasses, simple and elegant, and a set of dishes in bright solid colors, while House examines a deep fryer.

"Oh, we're definitely getting this," he exclaims with a grin. "Just think of all the fried foods we can make with this puppy."

"Yes, all the cholesterol-raising fried food," she replies, with a huff of a laugh.

"Well aren't you just Debbie Downer," he mocks, placing the fryer in the cart. "We're getting it."

Before she can respond further, he is off again. She trails behind with the cart, observing, as he examines a set of pots and pans.

"House, I have a set already. I just haven't unpacked them yet."

"Are they approved by Wolfgang Puck?" he asks, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"No, I don't think so."

"Well then, obviously they're inferior." He begins loading the cart with the pots and pans, and continues with, "These are heavy-bottomed, stainless steel wonders of cooking technology. A heavy bottom in a woman is not such a good thing, but in a pan..."

"I get it," she says, cutting him off. "Fat bottomed girls? No. Fat bottomed pans? Yes."

"Cute. You've got nothing to worry about in that department," he says with a wink and a pat on her ass, and then he moves off to a display of kitchen tools that are mostly unrecognizable to her.

As the mountain of things in the cart grows, she realizes she's going to have to curb his shopping spree or she'll be bankrupt.

"House... I think this is enough for now, don't you? Any more and I'll have to take out a loan."

"I'm paying," he says, in a matter of fact voice, and she can't help but stop, frozen in her tracks by the notion of House offering to pay for something.

"I think I'd better check you for fever," she says. "Or check the weather forecast in Hell. I'm not sure which."

"Very funny. I do sometimes pay for stuff myself, you know." He shuffles and looks out across the store as he fidgets, and then adds, "You've paid for everything else. I thought I'd contribute. It's not a big deal."

He moves to her, reaching out and pushing her jaw closed with his finger and then gestures toward the registers as he heads off to pay.

XXXXXX

Back at home they unload their things and begin putting them away. At first, he hesitates, wondering if she'll object to the way he hangs the pots on the pot rack or how he chooses which cabinet will hold the canned goods, but she just continues pulling groceries out of the bag and handing them to him, letting him decide where things belong. And he feels at home.

Evening has fallen and the glow of the lights gleaming off the granite makes the room feel warm and inviting. As promised, the first thing he makes is a homemade pizza. Beside him is an assembly line of ingredients: a bowl of shredded cheese, tomato sauce, a stick of pepperoni, strips of red and green bell peppers, and a little dish of herbs. Behind him, the oven beeps as it reaches the desired temperature. He pounds out dough while Cameron arranges the dishes and wine glasses in a pleasing way, and there's a warmth in his chest that feels a lot like happiness.

XXXXXX

With the kitchen done, they begin work in earnest on the study. House is pleased to see the room take shape, eager to move his piano in, among other things. He has visions of sitting in front of the fire with Cameron on chilly winter nights, making love on the rug or just curling up on the couch to read together. It's the room that most reminds him of his condo, and maybe that is what he loves about it. The idea of it makes the transition of moving, of all the changes in his life really, that much easier to take.

While they work, he talks. It's not something he plans, but words seem to come easily when he's with her. It's starts with a joke she makes about his t-shirt; the one with the smiley face.

"I stole it from Alvie," he tells her, and at her questioning look, he continues, "He was my roommate at Mayfield. Manic depressive off his meds. Kid never shut up."

"Ah," she says, and then after a brief pause she asks, "What was it like there?"

"I hated it at first. Tried to scam my way out of there. Tried to prove I was smarter than Nolan. But then, someone almost died because of me and everything changed."

She waits quietly, and he finds himself spilling the whole sordid story of sneaking Freedom Master out and dragging him to a carnival so that he could "fly." "I thought my way was better than Nolan's," he says. "I thought that he was better off clinging to his delusions than shutting down altogether. Instead, he launched himself off the ledge of a third story parking garage and nearly killed himself."

"But he lived," she says, as if to alleviate his guilt, and he can't help but smile sardonically because it is so typically Cameron to try to make him feel better about something crappy.

"Yes, he lived. Had a lacerated spleen, rotational pelvic fracture, compound break of the femur and humerus, and he completely shut down again, but he lived. No thanks to me."

"You couldn't have known he'd..."

"No, I couldn't have known," he acknowledges. "But I wasn't thinking about him; I was only thinking of myself. Even after that, I wanted to fix him. Kept trying to get him to open up again." He pauses at that, suddenly hit with the irony that he, House, wanted to fix someone, which is exactly what he's always accused Cameron of trying to do.

"You thought you could make it right again," she says, reading him better than he expects. Her words are judgment free, and he wonders how he ever thought she didn't know who he really was down deep.

Their work is slow, because Cuddy is often calling him into the hospital. This is one of those days when he really just wants to stay home, enjoying the quiet of Cameron's company. But Cuddy is insistent, so he leaves Cameron to it, with the promise to return as soon as he can.

XXXXXX

When he arrives home, Cameron is gone. Out to run errands, he assumes. He steps out the french doors into the pool area and looks at the destruction before him. He wants to swim in that pool and soak in that hot tub. With Cameron. And he doesn't want to wait until the rest of the house is done before Cameron decides to tackle this area. He wants it done as soon as possible, and he's going to get it done, no matter what it costs. If it's too expensive, well, he has a solution for that. He'll sell his condo. He's been meaning to do that anyway, so it's not an issue. Time to move on, and since this place feels so much like home, he can't imagine himself back there, lonely and miserable and popping Vicodin like tic tacs. That life holds no appeal to him anymore.

Taking advantage of her absence, he does some research and finds a few contractors willing to come out and look at the job. Now all he has to do is hope he can get Cameron out of the house before they come, because he really wants to surprise her.

Cameron solves that problem with her own surprise.

XXXXXX


	9. Check Your Social Calendar

Cameron's been unemployed for six months. She's still okay financially, but she's starting to feel the urge, if not the urgency, to get back to work.

_He stares her down from the entrance of the ER and calls her an idiot, tells her that her hair makes her look like a hooker and she laughs._

_"I can do good here," she says. "Get it out of my system."_

It's not out of her system, not even close. She misses it: stitching up people, offering a side of comfort with a medical procedure, making a brief connection with a patient and solving a puzzle. Being with House is everything she's wanted in a relationship for so long, or it would be if she could trust it completely, but it's also not enough. Medicine is her calling, what she needs to do. If nothing else, this break has taught her that.

The most necessary projects in the house are finished; the rest can be done in her spare time. There's really no reason not to go back to work now. Firing up her laptop, she updates her CV and begins to search for openings at local hospitals.

Four days later, she's nailed an interview at Englishtown Memorial, just a short drive outside of Princeton. It's a small hospital, but they're starting up a Microbiology and Research department and they want her to be a part of it. She'll head up the department, which is essentially only going to be her and a small team. Occasionally, she'll consult on cases, though she knows the toughest cases are sent to House at PPTH, so she doesn't anticipate the complex differentials she had as part of his team. Still, she's excited. This is a chance for her to participate in studying how diseases work and potential new ways of fighting or curing them.

Coming home from her interview, House scans her up and down, taking note of her sharply creased charcoal pants, lavender sweater and matching charcoal jacket, and he narrows his eyes. Doctor Cameron is in the house.

"I got a job," Cameron announces, without preamble.

Unexpected, he thinks, and wonders if he's lost his touch. Before the detox, before the anti-depressants, he would've anticipated this, would've guessed her next move. It's the sacrifice he didn't want to make, the main thing that kept him from giving up the drugs for so many years. Sometimes he wants to curse Nolan for taking that edge away from him.

As the silence lengthens, her face turns from expectation to disappointment.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" she asks.

"Congratulations," he mutters, raising his can of soda in sarcastic salute, still caught up in his thoughts.

"Thanks a lot," she shoots back, annoyed with herself for thinking he'd care or be happy for her. She should've known better. With a shake of her head, she strides to the bedroom to change her clothes.

"So where is this job?" he asks from the doorway of the closet, startling her.

"Englishtown Memorial. I'll be heading up their new Microbiology and Research department."

"Well at least it's a step up from the ER," he grumbles.

"Thanks so much for your support," she snaps.

Looking chastened for a moment, he takes her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I guess I just thought eventually you'd come back," he admits, only realizing the truth of it just now. He wants her back at PPTH. He thought he could entice her back, if he was just patient enough.

Anger flows out of her like air from a deflating balloon, and she sighs. "I'm not coming back, House."

"I could fire Chase," he offers, though he knows she'll refuse.

"House, no. I can't go back there. I just can't."

"Okay," he nods, accepting. Pulling her to him, he plants a gentle kiss on her temple and murmurs, "Congratulations on the new job."

XXXXXX

During her first few weeks of work, House has been sneaking in the pool repair guys, making sure they're gone before she arrives home each day. On this, the last day of work, they've filled the pool and made sure all the chemical levels are right. The room is as humid as a rainforest, steam rising off the water and sparkling off the blue tiles. The light glinting off the crystal water is like an invitation; he puts on his swim trunks and heads to the kitchen to wait for Cameron to come home.

He hears the garage door open and he smiles. Perfect timing. Feeling like a kid at Christmas, he can't seem to stop smiling. When she walks through the door, he leans in and kisses her, while taking her bag from her shoulder at the same time.

Her gaze travels down his naked chest to the navy blue surf shorts and further down to his bare feet, and her fingers itch to touch him.

"Got a surprise for you," he says, plopping the bag down on the table. Taking her hand, he leads her out to the pool area, and says, "Wanna go for a swim?"

Her jaw is hanging open, and she's just staring and he has no idea if that's good or bad.

The windows are fogged up and the smell of chlorine hits her immediately. The bubbling of the hot tub in the corner echoes through the room. There's a life preserver hanging like a centerpiece on the wall and a newly installed diving board over the deep end of the pool. But the most amazing part of his surprise is the tile; that gorgeous tile she first fell in love with is there, intact and reflecting the light like sea glass. She feels as if she's stepped back in time, all that art deco beauty restored to its former glory.

Finally, she speaks. "H... How did you do this?"

"I have connections," he replies with a shrug. "You like?"

She looks at him then, really looks at him and the expression on his face is like a hopeful little boy seeking approval. "Yes," she answers. "I love it. I can't believe you did this."

"Go get changed."

She can't help but smile at his eagerness. He's too cute sometimes. She heads off to the bedroom and digs out a blue bikini, which she promptly puts on, feeling almost as eager as he is. Grabbing her white swim suit cover, she shrugs that on too and snags two towels from the bathroom on her way out of the room.

Back in the pool room, she finds House already in the water. There's music, something old and timeless that adds to the feeling that she's stepped back into the past, emanating from his iPod dock on a chair by the door. She watches in fascination as the muscles in his back flex with the grace of his movements; the trapezius, the deltoid, and the latissimus dorsi all moving in perfect symmetry. Now she knows why he couldn't wait to get the pool done. In the water, he's not a cripple, but an athlete. His kicks are little one-sided, sure, but he's still poetry in motion as he slices cleanly through the water. She could stand there and watch him all day.

He stops at the wall and turns to find her staring. With a little smile, he inclines his head as a gesture of invite and she shrugs off her cover-up and descends the stairs into the water. The music was a last minute idea; he wants to dance with her in the water where his leg doesn't get to have a say in it. _You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me _ Bing Crosby croons, and House has to agree as he watches her.

House has seen Cameron in bra and panties; he's seen her naked. And yet the sight of her in that bikini is breathtaking. He just stares from the other end of the pool as she enters the water and dives under, swimming toward him like a sea nymph. God, how she turns him on.

Beside him, she emerges from beneath the surface and rakes her hair out of her face with her fingers, grinning at him all the while. Unable to help himself, he reaches for her and pulls her against his body, kissing her breathless.

The music changes and Jimmy Durante tells them a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. Not with Cameron, House thinks. With Cameron a kiss is never just a kiss. She's his Louie Armstrong girl, with a kiss to build a dream on.

She responds with enthusiasm; her hands feel like they're everywhere on him at once. The water is charged, a conductor of the best kind of electricity. He reaches around and undoes the clasp of her top, sliding it off her shoulders and pushing it away and then he pushes the bottom half of her bikini down her legs as far as he can without submerging himself. She aids him by pulling her legs out and kicking it off. Hands on his shoulders, she clings as he pushes his swim trunks down just far enough and enters her.

This is a first for him since the infarction, he realizes. Sex against a wall, standing up... he can't remember the last time he was able to do this but it feels so good to hold her up as her legs wrap around him. Every part of her is touching some part of him, and he likes that feeling of closeness and connection. The intimacy of it might have scared him off at one time, but not now. Now it's... it's all good, he thinks, as she clutches him and cries out in ecstasy and he reaches his climax.

His body thrums as he leans against the wall, smooth tile against his back. Cameron pushes off him, diving down to gather the pieces of her bikini. This part, the separation bothers him the most, because with Cameron it's beyond physical. She withdraws emotionally as well. He always thought a relationship with her would be different; she'd be clingy and needy and he'd be distant. Her lack of clinginess, her aloof behavior... it throws him.

"Getting out so soon?" he calls after her.

Turning, she shrugs and says, "I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day."

Following her into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he blurts out an idea that's been brewing for a few weeks. "We should throw a party."

"W... what?" she laughs. "A party? Like the last one you threw with the strippers and the excessive drinking?" And Chase nearly dying, she mentally adds with a frown.

He knows she doesn't believe it, but he really does want to have their friends over, show off the place, show off his cooking skills, the pool, Cameron. He wants to try something normal. Socialize a little bit. He doesn't hate all people, just a good portion of them. Okay, most of them. So inviting the people he doesn't hate to come and share a meal might be kind of fun.

"I'm serious," he reiterates. "This house was meant for entertaining. We should invite our friends to see it, eat, maybe swim if they want."

"What friends would those be?" she asks, cynically.

"Colleagues, former colleagues, some of the crew from Mayfield. You know, _friends."_

She has one close friend, Lena, who moved to Ohio last year. Chase hated her because he said she ate too much, so he never wanted to do things with them. Other than that, the only people she knows are the woman she works with, who seems friendly enough, and her former coworkers from PPTH and they are not her friends. Oh, she thought they were, for a time, but... well, at the various times she needed them, they weren't there. Not when she was exposed to HIV, and not when her marriage was falling apart. She has no interest in socializing with them now, especially not here in her home, the sanctuary she's created for herself. But then, House has come so far in his attempts to improve himself, staying off the Vicodin and finding other ways to manage his pain. He's come a long way from his comfort zone of misery and self-destruction, and if this is what he wants to do, she really doesn't want to discourage him.

"When would you want to have this party?"

Shrugging, he replies, "I don't know. Whenever. Should I check my social calendar?"

"House," she says, exasperated, "a party is a lot of work. It's not something you can do on a whim. We'd have to figure out what kind of food we want to serve and how many people we're inviting, for starters. Then we'd have to buy all the food and liquor and... What?" she says, when she notices he's smiling at her.

"You think too much," he says, amused. "I'll take care of everything."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she mutters, as he heads to the closet to change.

XXXXXX

Just as his team is about to run off to perform tests on their patient, House tosses out his invitation. "Oh, by the way, party at my house on Saturday. Bring your swim suits." He pauses, looks at Thirteen and winks. "You can swim naked if you want."

"Uh... what?" Taub asks, shaking his head in confusion.

"Par. ty. at. my. house. on. Saturday." House repeats slowly like he's talking to an imbecile. "There's a pool, if you want to swim."

"House, it's 40 degrees outside!" Foreman points out.

"It's an indoor pool," House clarifies, with a look on his face that says _duh._

"Are you serious?" Thirteen asks.

"Of course, I'm serious," he replies, but they're all still standing there staring at him skeptically. "It's a House party. Get it?" When they don't respond, he rolls his eyes and grabs the marker. Turning to the whiteboard, House writes down the address and the time of the party. "Show up Saturday, or don't. There'll be food and libations and swimming." He pauses, thinking for a moment and then continues. "No drunk swimming though. Anyone throws up in my pool is fired."

"Can I bring my wife?" Taub asks.

"She hasn't divorced you yet?" House jokes, but again gets no response beyond a blank stare. They've all gotten too used to his antics, he thinks. "Yes, bring your wife."

XXXXXX

Together, they manage to pull off all the party preparations. House, in his usual House-like way, takes care of the food by making up a mental shopping list and throwing grocery items into the shopping cart haphazardly. He also buys enough alcohol to drown a small country in. But since he is paying for it all himself as far as Cameron knows, she's not complaining. He seems to be enjoying himself.

One day, he even drags her out to a furniture shop and buys patio furniture for the pool area, with only minimal mocking of her taste. She chooses several steamer deck lounge chairs that remind her of a picture of her mother from her parent's honeymoon, sitting on the deck of a cruise ship, wide brimmed hat on her head and smile on her face. Spying a pair of little round frosted glass tables to set between them, she debates, mentally calculating the cost, but House is decisive, and tells her to get them and the large oval table with six matching chairs she'd been eyeing earlier. House also picks two Adirondack chairs with ottomans and then charms the store manager into cutting the cost of delivery in half.

He is changing and growing, while still maintaining his irreverent and sometimes crass sense of humor and sarcasm. Sometimes Cameron wonders why she's still holding a part of herself back from him. But then, if his motto is _everybody lies_, hers is _everybody leaves_. Like Chase, who pushed her for more and then pushed her aside. She has to remind herself of that and stay strong.

XXXXXX


	10. Party On, Garth

**A/N: **Apologies for the wait. No real revisions on this part.

The day of the party, House wakes her early and they share a long bath together. He's quiet at first, and she wonders if he's regretting his party idea already. But then he plants a kiss on her lips and heads to the kitchen to start preparing the food. She can hear him whistling and she can't help but catch some of his infectious enthusiasm, even though it feels to her like preparing for a root canal at the dentist. She just wants to get it over with.

The first guests to arrive are Cuddy and Wilson with little Rachel in tow. House is still in the kitchen, wearing a chef's hat and a silly "kiss the cook" apron, which amuses her endlessly. Opening the front door, she smiles in greeting, surprised when Wilson and Cuddy frown and sputter their hellos.

"Cameron," Wilson says, "I... didn't know House invited you. I didn't know he'd even kept in touch with you." Recovering, he gives her a one armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you."

Speechless, she manages to smile and lead them back to the kitchen, while a little ball of nausea unfurls in her stomach. _He... he didn't even tell Wilson, his best friend, that this was her home and that he had moved in with her? Is he ashamed of her? Is she his dirty little secret?_

With the arrival of Foreman and Remy, and then Taub and his wife, she gets an almost identical reaction. Not one of them was aware that she would be here, that it was her home. The noise in the back of the house increases as the guests gather there, greeting House and exclaiming over the place. She feels like the outsider, the one who doesn't belong and so, unnoticed, she slips down the hall to her bedroom.

A few minutes later House finds her there, sitting on the bed with tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Hey. What's wrong?" he asks. His immediate thought is that someone said something to upset her and he's prepared to wield his cane in ways it was not intended for if he has to.

"You didn't tell anyone you were living here. With me. They think I'm a guest. Why?" she asks, swiping at her tears angrily.

Crap! He hadn't thought how that might look to her. There is a valid explanation, at least in his mind, but whether or not it will appease her is the question. "I... only told Dr. Nolan," he says, and that makes her even angrier and she gets up and paces around the room, unable to even look at him.

"You told your therapist," she cries. "Why? Am I a problem that you have to work through?"

"Yes. No. Yes," he shakes his head, and gathers his thoughts. "Yes," he answers again, "but not in the way you're thinking." Standing and moving so that he's blocking her progress across the rug, he looks down at her and traces a finger over her cheek along the path of her tears. "I didn't tell Wilson or anyone else for two reasons. You just ended things with Chase, and if I'd told everyone we were living together they'd... they'd think worse of you. I don't care what people say about me, but I do care what they say about you," he says, adamantly, and she softens a little.

"What's the other reason?"

"This is all new. I'm trying. My goal is... to be happy. But I needed to do that on my own without interference from... all of them," he concludes, waving his arm in the direction of the kitchen. "Then I realized I was ready to take another step, and that's why I wanted this party. So they could see I'm getting somewhere. I wanted them to find out about you here in our home, instead of at the hospital where they'd spend all day gossiping about it. Is that so wrong?"

"No, I guess not," she concedes, and her heart feels a little lighter at the words "our home," but there's still a part of her that feels insignificant, less than. All these people who couldn't be bothered to say goodbye or call her after she left are now in her home, acting as if they have as much right to be here as she does.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should've told them. I screwed up."

He looks so contrite that she can't stay mad at him, so she just nods, letting him off the hook.

"So we're okay then?"

"Yeah, we're okay."

"Good. Dr. Nolan is here. He brought Alvie. I want you to meet them."

"Alright. Just give me a few minutes to fix my face," she says with a small smile.

"Your face is perfect," he replies, swiftly kissing her. But he leaves to give her a few moments to compose herself anyway.

Back out in the kitchen, he finds Wilson playing bartender. Alvie is making faces at Rachel, who is giggling sweetly on Cuddy's lap. Foreman, Thirteen, Taub and his wife are admiring the pool. Nolan is manning the grill in House's absence.

Whacking his cane on the doorframe, House gains everyone's attention. As all eyes center on him, he swallows and wonders why he thought this party was such a good idea in the first place. "Listen up," he says, "this place belongs to Cameron. I live here with her. And if anyone gives her a hard time about it, you'll be getting a free rectal exam, courtesy of my cane." He takes a moment to look into each of their faces, lingering on Foreman with a challenge in his eyes. Satisfied that his message has been received, he adds, "Party on, Garth!" and raises a bottle of beer in salute.

He's about to take over the grill again, when the doorbell rings. Not expecting any more company, he frowns and limps off to find out who it is.

"Sorry I'm late," Chase says, offering up a bottle. "Brought some wine."

Ignoring the wine, House glares and says, "You weren't invited."

"Sure I was. You left the message on the whiteboard." With a smirk, he steps around House and follows the noise to the kitchen before House can slam the door in his face.

House limps after him, but detours to head off Cameron before she castrates him for inviting her ex-husband. She's just emerging from the bedroom when he intercepts her.

"Got another problem," he starts, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "Chase is here. And for the record, I didn't invite him. He invited himself. And... I'm sorry," he mutters, prepared for a shit storm of anger.

Instead, she sighs and says, "It's fine, House. It's not... I mean, I'd prefer he wasn't here, but it's not like I can't be civil to him."

Once amidst all their guests again, House introduces Cameron to Nolan and his wife, Doctor Beasley, and Alvie, who kisses her hand and then begins a rap.

_"House got a new crib_

_Livin' so large_

_Got a new gal too_

_Clearly she's in charge_

_She keeps him sane_

_Makes it look easy_

_She's got beauty and brains_

_And she looks like Doctor Beasley"_

House rolls his eyes and throws a chunk of bread at Alvie, who ducks and laughs. And Cameron laughs too. She can see the affection House has for these people, and her heart swells with pride for him and all that he's accomplished. He's smiling and cooking for people and he seems happy. She has no idea how big her part in that happiness is, but deep down it really doesn't matter. All she's ever wanted for him was happiness.

As House goes back to cooking, Nolan leans down and says, "Doctor Cameron, this place is spectacular. House tells me you did most of the work yourself. Very impressive."

"Thank you. You can call me Cameron, like everyone else here does," she says with a small laugh. "And House did a lot of the work here too. I don't know if I could have gotten as much done so quickly without him."

"That's not the way he tells it," Nolan replies. "He's very proud of you."

She blinks at that, surprised, and then answers, "I'm proud of him too. And I know you've really helped him. Thank you for that."

"Just doing my job," he says.

"Yes, but I know House hasn't always made it easy," she says with a knowing smile.

He returns her smile and nods. "That's true," he says, laughing. "That's very true. But you've helped. You're a good influence on him." And he raises his beer bottle a little in salute.

HIs words make her feel strangely pleased, and she finds herself looking at House differently for a moment, as if examining him for any signs that she might have had a positive effect on him. Her self-esteem has been so battered the past few years, she finds it hard to believe.

Wilson pulls her aside the first chance he gets. "Cameron, I'm really sorry about before. I didn't know. House... House is an idiot."

She laughs at that, and responds, "Yes, he's an idiot, but he had good intentions. Don't worry about it. We've worked it out. And... it's good to see you too."

Standing at the stove, House is swigging from a beer and scooping out hors d' oeurves with a spatula. He's still wearing the chef's hat and that silly apron and he looks so content, so at home. A surge of affection overtakes her. Moving to his side, she asks if he needs any help and he smiles at her and shakes his head, so she stretches up on her toes and kisses him, her palm coming up to rest against his cheek as he wraps one arm around her to draw her close. His hand presses against the small of her back, holding her to him as he deepens the kiss.

She's never done this, he thinks. He's always the one to initiate any touching, and when she kisses him now, his heart threatens to hammer right through his chest wall. If the place weren't so crowded, he'd take her right there on the counter. Breaking away, she smiles and snags a shrimp off the platter in front of her. As she moves away, he swats her on her stunning little ass and she looks back at him and laughs. It's that moment that he thinks she's finally starting to open up to him and they just might make it.

In the corner, Chase sits, nursing a beer and scowling at the sight of House and Cameron practically making out right in front of him. He's tempted to get up and leave. He had no idea Cameron would be here, let alone living here with House. It's his fault he lost her, but that doesn't stop the resentment from building within him. He watches her walk away and gets up to follow, cornering her by the bar where she's pouring herself a glass of wine.

"Well that was quick," he starts. "What'd you do, jump him the moment we split?"

"You dumped _me_. You don't get to be angry," she retorts, calmly taking a sip of wine when really she just wants to throw it in his face. "And my current relationship is none of your business."

He knows she's right, and yet, he's still angry and he can't seem to stop the next words that come out of his mouth. "Tell me the truth, for once and just admit you were sleeping with him when we were still together. "

This time she does throw the wine in his face, watching with satisfaction as he sputters and blinks, red droplets sticking to strands of his messy blond hair. An instant later she regrets it. She doesn't want this bitterness and animosity between them, but she's also not going to stand here and be falsely accused in her own home. Handing him a towel from the bar, she tells him, "I didn't. He sought me out after I left. And that's all I'm going to say about it because it's none of your business."

"You're right," he says, deflated. "I made a mistake when I let you go." He reaches forward and takes her hand, which she allows for only a split second before pulling it away. "So there's no chance for us again? No chance to start over?" His voice is plaintive, a hurt-filled plea.

"No Chase. There's not. I'm sorry for hurting you, but we can't go back. We just can't." Her eyes beg him to understand, because she hates hurting people. The worst part of all this is how easily she's gotten over him, and that makes her feel a stab of guilt.

He agrees with a nod and lets her go, but there's still a spark of anger inside him just waiting to be breathed into a flame. It's the idea of her with House that he just can't seem to accept. That's the reason she won't give him another chance now, because she's got the man she really wanted all along and it's not fair. That smug bastard can do anything he wants and she'd still love him.

As she walks away, something she said to him about House circles around her brain stirring up a little whirlwind of thought.

_He sought me out after I left, he sought me out after I left, he sought me out after I left. _

It's the very heart of why she loves him. He's the only one who's ever come after her whenever she's left. The only one who ever asked her to come back. The only one who's ever really seen her deep down or cared whether she was there or not. He was willing to go on a date with her, buy her a corsage, in order to get her to come back to work, and she knows now what a big deal that was for him. These thoughts give her a little bit of hope that it might be alright to open up to him and let herself fully love him and trust him. And that makes her feel a happiness she hasn't felt in a long time.

Wilson is in the pool, dragging Rachel around in an inflatable ring while she giggles and squeals and splashes with her chubby fists. They are adorable together and Cameron hopes that this is just the beginning of a long and happy relationship for him and Cuddy. Speaking of Cuddy, she's soaking in the hot tub, looking stunning in a striped bikini. Dr. Beasley is sitting on the edge across from her, with her feet in the water, and the two of them are chatting amiably. Through the dining room and the french doors of the study, Cameron spots Foreman, Thirteen and Alvie playing poker. The Taub's and the Nolan's are sitting around the table in the dining room eating and talking. Everyone seems to have made themselves at home, and she can't help but be impressed that House pulled this group of people together and managed to make it seem like a family gathering.

House, having witnessed Cameron and Chase's little altercation, intercepts Chase in the small powder room off the hallway where he's trying to clean red wine off his shirt. "Leaving so soon?" he asks, but it's not really a question as he blocks Chase in.

"How's it feel knowing I had her first?" Chase retorts with a smug grin, his words intended to hurt.

House has been expecting a remark like that since Chase arrived. He's so predictable. "You know what your problem is? You treated her like a prize to be won. Pursued and pursued and pursued until you finally got her to walk down the aisle and say I do and then you stopped trying. What'd you think? That as long as she had your name, you could ignore her repeatedly and she'd just keep waiting for a scrap of your attention. You didn't have her first. In fact, you never had her at all. If you had, then it wouldn't have been so hard for her to even give you a damn drawer."

The truth of that burns a path from Chase's heart all the way up to his head; he can feel the heat coming off his ears. He wants desperately to strike House, but he clenches his fists and continues to stare him down instead.

"Now you're leaving," House says, in a tone that brooks no argument. He steps back and points his cane toward the front door.

Chase goes, looking back only briefly before closing the door behind him. House can't help but feel a little sorry for him. He's guilty of the very same thing he just accused Chase of; ignoring and rejecting her repeatedly while hoping she'd keep waiting around for a scrap of his attention. It's a revelation he's not proud of. What an arrogant ass he'd been to her over the years. He's damn lucky she didn't slam the door in his face the moment he first showed up at her house. He's done letting people hurt Cameron. Including himself.

Seeking her out, he finds her in the hot tub with Cuddy and Beasley. Three gorgeous, scantily clad women together in the hot tub. _Happy birthday to me! _ he thinks with a grin. Peeling off his shirt, he steps in and settles himself beside Cameron. "If you three were planning on making out, don't stop on my account."

"You wish," Cuddy replies, with a teasing smile.

He leans back, stretching his arms out along the tile ledge, one arm behind Cameron. Scoots closer to her until their thighs are touching beneath the bubbles and thinks about how really, she's the only woman he wants right now. Closing his eyes, he's at peace.

The afternoon passes in a peaceful blur, with lots of laughter and playful banter and Cameron really lets herself enjoy the day without thinking of endings or rejection. But as she is helping Cuddy pack up Rachel's things to go home, Cuddy grows serious and tells her, "You know he's fragile right now, right? It's not a good idea to put too many expectations on him. He's not healthy yet and, well... the slightest thing could send him back to the pills and misery. Just... please be careful with him."

Cameron's mouth drops open, but she doesn't say anything. This is not the first time she's been warned not to break House's heart and it's rather unbelievable to her. How did she get this reputation of being a heartless bitch, she wonders. There's no time to respond even if she had a response, because Cuddy has said goodbye and she and Wilson are already on their way out the door, taking with them all the joy Cameron had been harboring throughout the day.

As House shuts the door behind them, he takes her hand and says, "Let's clean up tomorrow," with a waggle of his eyebrows. She follows him down the hall to the bedroom with less enthusiasm than she might have felt earlier. But then, House touching her _that_ way is something she hasn't mastered the ability to resist, and they fall into bed together.


	11. Tell Me How You Feel

Things are moving along as smoothly as before, and Cameron settles into the routine of going to work and coming home to House, except on the rare occasions he has to work late. He cooks, they eat together, they have really good sex on a regular basis. It's good. And yet Cameron still has that feeling, as if she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Someone is going to get hurt, and because she has no doubt it will be her, she continues to hold back a large portion of herself from him, shielding herself from the blow she's sure will come. At this point, it's habit as much as anything else. Admittedly, she's never been good at commitment. Not when it comes to personal relationships anyway. Her failed marriage to Chase only proves the point. The worst part about it is that she wants to have the commitment, the lasting relationship, but she just can't seem to trust herself or House not to screw it up. She never used to be this afraid, which makes her wonder when it all changed. All this time, she's prided herself on becoming stronger, more confident, and now that feels like a joke.

And then one evening, just as she predicted, it all falls apart.

She finds him sitting on the bed, a framed photograph in his hand. Turning it toward her, she sees it's the picture of her and Evan and their parents from when she was seven. It's the last family picture they had taken before her mother died. One of the last times she was truly happy. She can't recall who took the picture now, but she recalls they were having a barbecue in the backyard and that she was given sparklers when dusk fell.

_Her braids slap against her back as she runs through the yard, giggling and leaving swirls of light in the night air with the glowing end of the sparkler. The grass is soft beneath her bare feet, and she can hear the hiss hiss hiss of the sprinkler in the Brody's yard next door. She wonders, as the light from her sparkler dissipates almost as quickly as it comes, if the fireflies are confused. Do they think she is one of them? The sound of laughter and happy chatter echoes around her, accompanied by the popping sound of the snappers Evan is whipping at the side of the garden shed. Running to his side, she holds out her hand and he dumps a few into her palm and demonstrates how to throw them. _

_Beneath the pergola, her parents talk and laugh with the neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Brody, and Aunt Elise. Beckoning her to him, Mr. Brody pulls peppermints from his pocket and tucks them into her hand with a conspiratorial wink, and she smiles and blows him a kiss, before running off again to chase the fireflies. _

_Life in her seven year old world is as perfect as it can get. _

"Where are they?" House asks. "You said your dad died, but what about your brother and your mom?"

Taking the frame from his hand, she places it back on the shelf and says, "My mom died. My brother lives in Hong Kong." End of story. She's not in the mood to indulge his curiosity. Not for something so deeply personal and painful.

"Well that was enlightening," he snaps. "Thanks so much for sharing."

Ignoring him, she starts to leave the room when his voice stops her in her tracks.

"Why do you keep doing that?" he asks, and he's standing now, moving right up to her so that she has to look up into his face, his eyes. Blue is the color of frustration.

"Doing what?"

"Shutting me out," he all but yells, punctuating each word with his cane on the hardwood floor.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lies, unable to look at him now. She turns again, tries to leave the room, but he cups one hand around her arm and keeps her in place.

"Yes you do. You're doing it again. Right now. Things get a little too personal, and you shut down."

"What do you want from me?" she cries, exasperated. "You're living in my house. Sleeping in my bed. What more do you want?"

"I want you to show some damn emotion," he shouts. "I want you to stop treating me like a roommate. Do you even want me here?"

She just stands there, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Her thoughts are so tangled, she can't answer. Can't fathom that he's the one accusing her of being emotionally closed off.

The silence is too much. He has his answer. Limping around her, he leaves the room. Leaves the house. Her voice calling out to him vaguely registers as he revs the engine of his motorcycle and speeds off, destination unknown.

She's done it now, she thinks. Held so much of herself back from him, that he's had enough. Ironic that she was only protecting herself, preparing for the eventuality of his leaving, which ended up chasing him away. The worst part of it is that she loves him. She loves him more deeply than she's ever loved anyone. And all her efforts at keeping him at bay haven't saved her one ounce of pain. The thought of losing him steals her breath, like her heart is being strangled. Collapsing on a kitchen chair, she lays her head in her arms and cries, as she listens to the roar of his motorcycle fade into the night.

XXXXXX

House finds himself at Dr. Nolan's office, sitting on the bench near Nolan's car, waiting. It's deja vu, he thinks, but this time the pain is worse because... it's Cameron. She's been an important part of his life for a long time, even when he didn't show it. And he doesn't want to lose her, but maybe... maybe he doesn't really have her. If it all falls apart now, he'll have no one and no real reason to stay off the Vicodin. His life is better with Cameron in it.

Nolan comes out, spots House sitting there and shakes his head as if trying to clear away the image in front of him. "Uh oh," he says. "I feel like we've been here before."

"I need... advice," House tells him. "I need help."

Nolan sits down beside him and waits, elbows on his knees, expectant look on his face.

"Cameron... I don't know if she even loves me. She tells me nothing personal. And I don't know how to get through to her."

"This is the same Cameron that recently went through a divorce?" Nolan points out. "The same Cameron you rejected for years?"

Grimacing, House looks away, but continues. "Okay, point taken. But I've opened up to her. I'm trying. But she still treats me like a roommate."

"A roommate? Really? You two don't..."

"Yes," House interrupts. "We have sex. Great sex. She lets me touch her everywhere. Except her heart."

"House," Nolan chuckles, "the Cameron I met at your party... that is a woman who loves you very much. Maybe she just needs a little more time. You said yourself that you pushed her away for years. Have you apologized for that? Told her you love her?"

House shakes his head no, guilty.

"So you expect from her what you haven't been willing to give. That doesn't seem fair."

He's right, House thinks. He's been expecting Cameron to just know that he loves her because he's there, as if his presence alone was enough. A few gestures of affection here and there, and he acts as if she should be declaring her undying devotion. Shaking his head at his own arrogance, he wonders again why she's put up with him for so long. And maybe that's his answer. Maybe she puts up with him because she loves him. Recalling her stricken face when he left, he suddenly wants to go home and tell her... well, everything he should've told her a long time ago.

"Thanks, " House mutters, with a short nod at Nolan. And then he mounts his bike and heads for home, practicing in his head what he's going to say.

When he arrives home, he finds her sitting at the kitchen table, tears carving paths down her cheeks. She looks up and swipes at her eyes and says, "I'm sorry," before he can get a word out.

"I thought that you couldn't love me," she continues, and lets out a little huff as she recalls saying something very similar to him a long time ago. She wonders if her life is meant to run in circles, going nowhere. "When you came here... I just figured I was your last... resort." More tears fall and she tries to blink them away. "There's always been someone else that held your attention more than me. And I was okay with that. I just wanted you to be happy. And then you came here and I figured those other relationships didn't work out for whatever reason, so you turned to me. And I thought that if I just closed off my heart, it wouldn't hurt as much if... if you left or if one of those other women came back into your life. " She looks up at him and tries to smile through her tears, and adds, "But it didn't work. It still hurts no matter what. And in the process, I hurt you too and for that I'm sorry, " she cries.

He feels like shit. He's done this to her. He sees that now, and yet, he can't believe that she really thinks she's some kind of consolation prize. Moving to her, he pulls her up and into his arms and murmurs against her hair, "You're not my last resort, Cameron. I love you. Only you."

Those words shake something loose inside her and she begins to sob as he clutches her tighter and continues telling her what he needs her to know. "All these years there's always been this... thing between us. But I didn't want it because I really didn't want to be happy. If there was anyone else I pursued, it was because I knew deep down those relationships were doomed to fail. You're not my last choice, you're my first, because you're the one I've always known might actually stick. And now I'm ready for that." He draws away just far enough to look down into her face, his thumbs pushing away her tears like windshield wipers. "Okay?"

Nodding, she burrows into him, hiding her face in his neck and clinging as if she can't get close enough to him.

"I'm sorry," he says, kissing the top of her head. "I should've told you before... when you're gone I miss you. That's why I came here. And I didn't ask if I could stay because... I was afraid you might say no," he says with a little huff of a laugh, "so I just moved right in. I don't want to lose you."

He kisses her then, tentatively and then with more passion as she responds. One hand cups her face. Beneath his fingertips, he can feel the tears that are still falling from her eyes. He tries to pull back, but she doesn't let him.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, kissing away her tears.

Her fingers are unbuttoning his shirt, and he shrugs it off while continuing to kiss her.

"So beautiful," he repeats, as he removes her shirt and then her bra.

Undoing his pants, she slides them down, while his palms blaze a path up her spine and over her shoulder blades, tugging her closer. Her breasts press against his chest and he shudders with pleasure. He can't tear his gaze from her eyes as she steps back just enough to step out of her yoga pants and panties, and then he pulls her close again, tasting her skin with soft kisses and backing up until he finds a chair. He sits, guiding her to him. Their bodies join, his arms wrapped tightly around her so he can feel her heart beating against his skin, and it's sensory overload. Everything about her is exquisite. She's a river flowing into him and he's the sea, absorbing her, making her part of himself.

They stay like that for a moment, her planting kisses along his temple and ear, her breath a near sob against him as she continues to cry. He feels like he can't get her close enough and continues to tighten his hold on her. His need for her turns desperate, just as she starts to move.

Her body washes over him like ocean waves. She's as graceful as prairie grass bending in the wind.

"You touch me," he says, as several tears leak out of his eyes. "You always have."

With that, she falls apart around him, crying, "House, House!" in a breathy murmur.

Later, as they lay in bed, she fits herself snugly against him, and he realizes that it's the first time she's cuddled with him this way. Though she still hasn't said the words I love you, he knows she feels it. There's still a longing within him to hear the words, but it's not as strong as it was just a day or two ago when she had her heart locked away from him.

Then, as if she can read his thoughts, she presses a kiss to his neck and tells him, "I love you," and it's as if something inside him spills over, and all he can do is press his lips to the top of her head and hold on tight.

XXXXXX

In the morning, the flame of pain wakes him early, an ember on the verge of becoming a blaze. She wakes moments later, to find him rubbing his hand over his thigh in firm smooth motions much the way he ran sandpaper over the shelves in the study.

"Bath?" she offers, and he nods in appreciation.

Once they're both settled in the tub, he nuzzles the top of her head affectionately and says, "Tell me something I don't know."

She knows what he means. He wants to know about her; all those things she's been holding back. She takes a deep breath and tells him her most painful secret:

_When she was eight, her mom disappeared. Kissed her goodbye at the bus stop, with the big yellow bus door swinging open impatiently and a gaggle of fresh-faced kids laughing at her from the windows. It was embarrassing at the time, though she accepted it gracefully. But now it's one of her most cherished and bittersweet memories. When she arrived home from school that day, there were police cars with flashing blue lights and officers in their dark uniforms with foreboding black implements swinging from their hips. Yellow tape surrounded the garden shed and part of the yard, and a sticky, viscous brown substance pooled over the stones that surrounded the flower beds. She can vividly recall one of her mom's gardening gloves, spotted with blood, sticking up from the loamy soil as if it were waving a twisted greeting. _

_She found her dad slouched on the porch steps, so hunched over it was like his spine could no longer support him. His face was altered with worry so that she almost didn't recognize him at first. It was only the familiar dusty, stained denim of his work overalls and his brown work boots that drew her to him. Beside him, her older brother Evan stood with one hand on his shoulder, looking more manly than a boy of fifteen should ever have to look. It was he that tried to explain what was happening as their father broke down in sobs. She recalls Evan scooping her up and carrying her like a baby, in a way she would've protested had circumstances been different. _

_From that moment on, she slept on a cot in Evan's room, with the light on as they listened to their father quietly falling apart in the bed he shared with their mom. _

_Just over two weeks later, her mom's body was found in a remote wooded area twelve miles away, wearing one garden glove and nothing else. Evan and their dad tried to keep the details from her, but the not knowing only fueled her nightmares and eventually Evan sat her down and gently explained. _

_Shortly after that, her dad packed them up and they moved away. She was angry at first to be leaving everything that was familiar and held all the memories of her mom, but it was the blood red tulips that shot up from the earth in the flower beds, a macabre reminder of that day that proved to be too much for all of them, and eventually she accepted that some things had to be left behind, though you could still carry the good memories with you. _

_The following summer, Evan got a job and Allison began accompanying her dad to work. He was careful to explain to her about the saws and sharp tools, gave her her own little suede tool belt and began to teach her how to make something beautiful out of something broken down. In the evenings, Evan would often take her to the library or to the little convenience store where he would buy her bubble gum or pretzel sticks that they pretended to smoke like cigars. _

_Together, the three of them made a life that was relatively happy, despite the gaping hole of her mom's absence. _

_And then when Allison was seventeen, her dad got sick. Mesothelioma, a word she had never heard before. In the years before Allison was born, before he started building and remodeling homes, he did construction on large warehouses, old school building, even ship yards. The asbestos laden buildings that supported him and his wife and their newborn son, eventually killed him. _

By the time she's done with her story, she's trembling and on the verge of tears. This is one of those things that she holds back simply because it is so difficult to tell. But pressed against House's chest, held securely in his arms, she feels safe and cherished and it gives her a strength she's never felt before. And that makes her cry for new reasons.

For House's part, he just holds onto her as tight as he can. Sometimes the shit humans inflict on other humans is too much to think about. When he imagines the fear and worry and sorrow Cameron suffered over the years, it is almost more than he can bear. And he acknowledges to himself the part he's played in adding to her pain.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against her hair. "I'm so sorry."

When they emerge from the bath, she wraps a towel around him and dries him off as he sits on the edge of the tub, rubbing the terry cloth gently over his scars. She is so tender, it moves him. No one has ever loved him quite like her before, nor engendered the depth of feeling he has for her. He struggles to contain himself, but it is too much. Pulling her up, he wraps her in his arms and fuses his mouth to hers. Despite the pain in his leg, he maneuvers her to the rug and shows her just what she does to him.

XXXXXX


	12. Cheesy Endings

**A/N: Final chapter. It's been a journey. Thanks for traveling it with me. **

Dusk settles over the yard just outside the window, as they sit side by side on the couch in the study. The television is on, and House is watching _New Yankee Workshop_ while Cameron reads a medical journal. With one arm slung around her, he toys with the ends of her hair. He finds himself unable to keep from touching her now, as if he's making up for the years of denying himself any and all affection. The date is significant; he's been thinking about it all day. Two years ago, she married Chase and he went off to Mayfield; two events that changed the course of their lives. But there is still a bit of unfinished business about Mayfield that he wants to address so that she'll know and never wonder.

"I want to tell you about Lydia," he says, suddenly breaking the quiet.

Surprised, she puts down her journal and turns to face him. "House... you don't have to."

"I know. But I want to."

"Okay," she replies, but she can't help but clench as her insecurities float to the surface. The memory of the two of them together in the yard at Mayfield, the knowledge that Lydia touched a part of him that Cameron couldn't reach when he was at his lowest... It stirs up a knot of nausea in the pit of her stomach.

There's a long pause as he contemplates where to start, what it is he wants her to know.

"Did you love her?" she asks, surprising both him and herself with the question. It's as if the words come out without her permission.

"I cared about her," he admits. "I needed to reach out to someone, and she was there."

"And you slept with her." It's not a question.

"Yes. Once. And then she left."

"But you wanted her to stay," she says, and though it hurts, part of the pain comes from thinking about how hard it must have been for him to let her go.

Nodding, he answers, "She was the first person I actually trusted there. But she was married and there was no future in it."

"What if she left her husband and came back? What if she wanted you back?"

"It wouldn't matter," he states, pulling her into his arms. "She was something I needed at the time. Now I just need you. Okay?"

"Okay."

XXXXXX

Things at work are quiet. Her small group of colleagues, like her, get so engrossed in their research they often forget anyone else is around. So everyone is startled when Cameron's cell phone blares a tinny rendition of _Hot for Teacher_ which House programmed in without her permission.

The voice on the other end is unfamiliar, foreboding. Goosebumps break out all over her flesh as the man, Agent Garcia with the FBI, informs her that her mother's killer has been found. Jim Brody. The man next door that they all trusted. The man who slipped peppermints into her hand, and bounced her on his knee when she was a little girl. The man they all trusted. This keeps repeating in her mind. He killed her mother, and at least a dozen other women over the years. That's all she hears as her knees threaten to buckle beneath her and unbidden images of her mother's terror hit her like a sudden and violent storm.

The next thing she's aware of, she's sitting on a bench outside PPTH. One of the slats of wood on the bench is sagging beneath her butt, so that she's lopsided, but she doesn't care. The entrance is a mere ten feet away, but she can't bring herself to go through those doors and back into a place that holds so many negative memories and associations. She's falling apart, but she's not going to do it in front of those people who proved they're only interested in themselves. So she sits there and silently wills House to come out and find her.

"Cameron?"

House finds her there, a broken girl on a broken bench. He's never seen her like this and something like panic pulls at his insides. "What's wrong?" he asks, and she launches herself off the bench and into his arms.

Holding her close, he tries to get his breathing under control. His active mind has conjured up a hundred different scenarios, each one worse than the last. In her thin blouse, she shivers in his arms and he's at a loss. _What do you do when the woman you love is breaking and you don't know why? _ He can't even bring himself to say any words of comfort, like, "It's okay" or "Everything will be fine," because it's not okay and he has no idea if everything will be fine and he sure as hell isn't going to lie to her or offer her platitudes. But he feels useless, just holding her and pressing kisses to her head.

Through the thick wool of his pea coat, he feels something jabbing him in the back and realizes that she is clutching her keys tightly in her hand.

Pulling back for a moment, he yanks off his coat and wraps it around her, prying the keys from her fingers. Then he lifts her chin, searching her face for answers and says, "Tell me."

Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, like rain on stained glass, and she swipes at her nose with one hand as she speaks, haltingly, about the news she received. As he listens to her tell how a man her family trusted did unspeakable things to her mother, he wants to drive to the federal prison that holds that man and do equally unspeakable things to him with his cane and his fists. And maybe the gun tucked away in his desk drawer.

"C'mon," he urges, tucking the coat more firmly around her as she continues to shake. "I'll take you home."

He leads her to her car and eases her into the passenger seat. Her face, peeking out from beneath the wool that swallows her small frame, is as pale as a lily and just as delicate, and he reaches over and takes her hand in a gesture of reassurance.

From inside the lobby, Chase witnesses the entire scene and his heart breaks a little bit more.

XXXXXX

When they arrive home, Cameron is still too pale, teeth chattering, and House wonders if he should have taken her into the hospital and treated her for shock. Concerned, he sits her down in front of the fire and throws the afghan over her.

"You want me to call Evan?" he asks, taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles in a soothing gesture.

"No, I'll do it," she answers, staring into the flames, trance-like.

Heading into the kitchen, he brings back a bottle of water and orders her to drink.

"I don't know what to do," he admits, sitting down beside her and tugging her to his side. "I suck at this. I'm sorry."

Those words seem to snap her out of her trance, and she turns to him and gives him a wan smile. "You're doing just what I need," she says, and places a kiss on his cheek and then burrows into him. "When I got that call... all I wanted was this."

She pulls herself together enough to call Evan, only to fall apart all over again. It's a comfort to hear his voice; to have someone who knows what the pain is like. As House lingers in the background, she tells Evan everything she learned: that Jim Brody killed dozens of women over the years, starting with their mother, that he got caught when he tried to abduct a woman at a car wash, a woman well versed in self-defense, who gave him a good beating before calling the police, that he confessed after his home was searched and evidence from each victim was found.

Standing, she paces as they work through the shock and cry together for their loss, for the horrors their mother experienced at the hands of someone they trusted. She desperately wishes Evan was there with her so she could feel his arms around her, not just for herself, but because he has no one there and it hurts her to think that when they break this connection, he'll have to deal with his grief alone. That thought sends her into another spasm of sobs, and House gently takes the phone from her hand and wraps his free arm around her.

"Evan, she'll call you back," he says, adding, "I'm sorry about your mom."

"Sure. Thanks. And House? Take care of her, will you?"

"Yes," House answers without hesitation. Just before Evan hangs up, House blurts, "You know, you could come for a visit. Might be good for both of you."

There's a pause and then Evan responds. "That's a good idea. I'll see what I can do."

House's invitation to Evan makes Cameron smile through her tears, and she wraps her arms around him as tightly as she can. All the little things he does to insure her happiness, those are the things that make her love him more than she thought it possible to love another human.

"Thank you," she murmurs, and he grunts and tells her to stop strangling him. But she notices he doesn't loosen his hold on her even a little bit.

XXXXXX

The next day, Cameron finds Chase sitting on the porch like a stray puppy.

"Chase?" she asks. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to know what was wrong yesterday," he demands, and the angry undercurrent to his tone has her bristling immediately. "And don't tell me it's none of my business," he snaps. "All the time we were together you rarely told me anything personal. You rarely came to me for comfort. So I want to know what the hell happened that made you go straight into House's arms. I think I have a right to know."

"No you don't," she retorts. "You tossed me aside, remember?"

Chagrined, he takes a deep breath, calming himself. "Why," he asks, "do you open up to him when you never did with me?"

Sighing, she releases her anger and thinks for a moment before answering. "Believe it or not, I didn't open up to him easily either. But House... doesn't take no for an answer, and maybe that's what I need. Someone who won't let me shut them out. Doesn't mean it was your fault I didn't open up to you. It just means we... we weren't right for each other."

"I hate that you're with him," he admits. "I hate seeing his smug face every day, knowing that he gets to come home to you. I hate that he knows more about you than I do."

"Chase, please. You need to move on from this. We hurt each other. I've already said I was sorry for my part, and I'm not going to say it again. It's behind us now and we can't change it. But I really hope you can find some way to be happy. That's what I want for you."

"Okay," he sighs, accepting. Reaching up with one hand, he touches her face and she leans in and kisses him on the cheek.

XXXXXX

Coming in from work, she finds House in the kitchen chopping vegetables. She knows immediately that something is wrong just by his demeanor, the set of his mouth as he works. As has become habit, she comes around the counter and kisses him, but there is not nearly as much enthusiasm on his part, and she worries. Things have been so good, she wonders if this is the beginning of the end.

"What's wrong?" she asks, and he shrugs and says, "Not a thing."

Right, she thinks. But if he's not ready to talk about it, what can she do?

"You sure?" When he says nothing, she turns to go to the bedroom and change. She's about two steps down the hall when it comes.

"Chase is leaving."

Pivoting, she looks at him, confused. "O...kay." She runs her hand over her forehead as she contemplates what it is exactly that bothers him about Chase leaving. She knows he hates change, so maybe that's it. "And... you don't want to have to hire someone new?"

He rolls his eyes at her, and tosses the knife down as he moves to stand in front of her, staring her down, studying her. "He's leaving the state. Maybe the country. Going to start fresh somewhere else."

"Well, that's good. Right?" She is still so confused. Why does this bother him so much?

"Is it?"

"House, what is the problem? What are you getting at?"

"This is what you wanted with _him_. You could be going with him. Getting your fresh start together."

She opens and closes her mouth, unsure what to say. She did want that, once. But she's long since gotten over it, and she can't believe House doesn't know that. Before she can reply, he continues, and his eyes are so vulnerable she melts a little inside.

"You have any regrets?"

"Yes," she says, moving in until she is pressed against him, her chin resting on his chest as she looks up into his eyes. "I regret marrying him in the first place, when all my instincts were against it. I regret hurting him. But I don't regret that it ended and I really hope he finds some happiness."

"You sure?" he asks, wrapping his arms around her loosely. "You're stuck with me now. This House still needs a lot of work."

Smiling, she pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses him before answering, "I know. We'll work on it together."

He half smiles and rolls his eyes, saying, "We are so cheesy."

Laughing, she agrees. "Cheesy is okay sometimes." Brushing her thumb over his lip, she brings him down for another kiss. "Happy now?" she asks.

Smiling back, he nods, and realizes that he is. He's happy.

XXXXXX


End file.
